


Through the Eyes of a King

by Aida



Series: Dwaggins: Where Warrior Women Abound [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Crack, Dwalin and Thorin are bros, Dwalin can't do compliments, Even when Dwalin's a woman, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Rule 63, fem!Dwalin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aida/pseuds/Aida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin has known Dwalin all his life, so he knows and understands her. He knows when she's happy. He knows when she's angry.</p><p>He knows when she's in love, and she certainly was in love now.</p><p>He just wishes it wasn't with their burglar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The third installment of my fem!Dwalin Dwaggins series! Hooray! (I'm starting to love this pairing far too much I think OMG)
> 
> A lot of readers asked if I was going to be exploring their background, and how they came to be on their journey. And this is it! 
> 
> It's more focussed around Thorin, and his own experiences/thoughts surrounding those two. How his best friend/sister figure falls for a hobbit, and how it all goes from there.
> 
> Anyway, enough of my yammering!

Thorin had known Dwalin practically his entire life. From when they were young children, when Dwalin would beat him up for trying to tell her she couldn’t fight because she was a girl; to when they got older, and their worlds were turned upside down a thousand times over by dragons, kings, orcs, and a raging sister and the nephews she bore him. They were always there for each other. Dearest friends, and closer to each other than they were to their own flesh and blood. He knew that Dwalin, despite what misconceptions came along with other dwarrows of her gender, was tough. A true warrior down to the core. 

Which was why her personal tastes in men always threw him.

Granted, his tastes were rather peculiar as well: male, with a kind smile, and able to make him laugh, even at the most inappropriate of times. Class wasn't even an issue, especially when they no longer had a kingdom and classes to deal with. But Dwalin’s proclivities were even _stranger_ in his eyes. She preferred men, like he did, but at least he liked his men strong. Fighters, even though they weren’t the most proper of warriors. Muscles, beards and all. Dwalin, however, preferred a softer type. More kind, open hearts and good cooks; mind over brawn and the like. She didn’t even care that they didn’t have any signs of facial hair. 

So he couldn’t help his odd stares when he saw how Dwalin treated their burglar. They didn’t know the hobbit very well, but despite that, she was rather polite to him (as polite as dwarves are, which to outsiders isn’t that polite). How she claimed that he was “too soft for the outside world”, and that was practically an open invitation by Dwalin’s standards. She stared, she watched, and she told Thorin off when the hobbit wasn’t within earshot.

“Really?” Thorin eventually asked when things had settled, and the burglar had turned in for the night. He had joined her when she slipped out to the back, where a rather flourishing garden stood. 

“What?”

“The Halfling?” Thorin specified, causing Dwalin to roll her eyes. “You said yourself: he’s _soft_! He knows nothing of hardship, or of having to degrade yourself to provide for your family! Yet you choose him?”

It was a rare thing to see Dwalin fluster, and even though her snarl was fierce, the red that bloomed on her face was even more surprising. “I did not _choose_ anyone!” She hissed. “There’s nothing wrong with appreciating a man! You know that.”

Thorin snorted. “He’s hardly a man.” He groused. “He’s as bare as a babe, and just as small.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” She retorted. “Luring that cheery toymaker and his family here on the promise of free beer?”

Thorin felt his own face heat at her words. “Shut up!”

“Then I suggest you do the same.” She grumbled. “Besides, as you always put it, there’s no harm in looking, is there?”

Thorin scoffed as she began to walk back inside the hobbit hole. “Get your fill while you can!” He called. “He’s not coming along with us in the morning!”

“We’ll see about that!” 

And Thorin did see that morning, turning to watch the hobbit run up the hill, contract flapping around in his grip and looking so much like an excited babe that it was ridiculous, but Dwalin seemed to like it herself, grin flickering on her own face.

“Didn’t I tell you?” She teased from her seat and Thorin had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“Get him a pony!”


	2. Besotted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are trolls, and Thorin couldn't disapprove of Bilbo more.

Thorin recalled Dwalin falling in love only once throughout their entire acquaintance. It was to one of her brother’s apprentices at the time. A man that was all sweet smiles and big words, and his beard was long and magnificent, styled in an extravagant way. Even Thorin appreciated how attractive he was, though he didn’t for long when the dwarf broke Dwalin’s heart to pieces and Thorin did the same to the man’s nose. Either way, he knew the signs of a besotted Dwalin quite well. Gruff and distant, yet near enough to lend a hand. Compliments covered in subtle words that seemed more like insults if one didn’t know her. Far off looks in their general direction, and defending their honor against anyone who dared to question it. 

At first, Thorin figured that Dwalin was just being nice to their burglar. Most of the company hadn’t warmed up to him yet (they probably never would, if Thorin was being honest), and Dwalin was one of the small number of their company to actually speak kindly to the hobbit (Bofur was also one of them, and Thorin had to fight down his growls of jealous rage because of it). It wasn’t just to the hobbit, either. Dwalin, it seemed, had maternal instincts buried deep within her, for she also did her best to care for and protect Ori when his brother and sister weren’t around to do so, plus watch over Thorin’s own nephews, those she had helped train when they came of the age to do so. So Thorin didn’t think that Dwalin had any romantic feelings for the hobbit, or at least he hoped she didn’t.

That is, until the trolls.

When Fíli had burst through the brush, panicked, yelling about their burglar and the trolls, of course Thorin was angry. His nephews were foolish if they thought that sending their weak little hobbit burglar after some trolls to free their ponies was a good idea. He didn’t have time to express that anger, however, for Dwalin was the one to beat him to the punch.

“What in the Maker’s name were you thinking!?” She snarled. “He has no weapons! He can’t even defend himself!”

“But he’s our burglar!” Fíli cried out in his defense. “We thought it would be easy for him!”

“Well, clearly you thought wrong!” She continued. “You best hope he doesn’t get eaten, or his death will be-!”

“Dwalin!” Thorin cut in, loud and sharp, already moving with his weapons. “No point arguing now. We have to save the Halfling.”

Fíli looked chastened when Thorin sent a tired glare in his direction, but what threw him was the dark look Dwalin was directing to her king.

“To arms!”

It didn’t get any better from there. 

Sure, at first, they thought they were winning. Thorin felt rather impressed with himself for the jump he made at one of them, and he saw that the hobbit had managed to let the ponies loose during the commotion. Then he got caught, of course. And they had to surrender, drop their weapons, and suffer through the indignities of being shoved into sacks and piled together, some being tied to a spit and placed above the flames. Dwalin fought as hard as she could throughout the entire thing, and Thorin himself saw red when Bofur was thrown on. 

He couldn’t look. Couldn’t watch as his company, those precious to him, were being slowly roasted to death.

“Wait! You’re making a terrible mistake!” And now the hobbit was going to try to bargain with them. His death was now doubly assured.

Dori and Bofur spoke out against them, but Bilbo would not be deterred, it seemed. “I meant with-er… the… the seasoning!”

Thorin didn’t think he could get anymore angry, but it seemed that the hobbit had a knack of bringing Thorin’s rage up to new heights. For, instead of trying to help him, he was giving trolls cooking tips. He raged and shouted his protests with his company as he continued, but it wasn’t until Bilbo spoke of parasites that he paused. Yes, it wasn’t the most lovely of compliments to go around saying that the company you were travelling with was riddled with parasites, but he realized that he was saying such things to save them.

He was buying time.

He kicked whoever was closest to silence the protests, and from there it continued until Gandalf appeared in the knick of time (as always), and broke the wall of rock, the bright sun nearly blinding as it turned the trolls to stone.

It took some work, some struggling, but eventually they were out of their sacks and free. As Thorin approached Gandalf, he noticed how Dwalin, upon being freed from the sack by their burglar, immediately launched for him, tugging him this way and that, and making sure he was relatively unscathed. He was flustered, for sure, but Thorin wasn’t focusing on Bilbo. No, he was looking at Dwalin. At the look in her bright eyes and how she handled him with the upmost care.

Thorin had to fight down his shock, because Dwalin couldn’t be more easy to read. Even Balin, her brother, quirked an eyebrow at the sight, and Thorin knew that there would be problems.

For Dwalin was clearly besotted with the hobbit, and Thorin would have to do his best to assure that such a union would never come to fruition.

Because he would never approve of that Halfling courting his dearest friend. He shouldn’t even be on this adventure. He was weak and soft, far too soft for anyone, really. No man was less suited for Dwalin.

It burned in his mind, even as he spoke with Gandalf and made sure his nephews were unharmed. The only distraction from his thoughts came from two things. One was Gandalf, who found the cave that the trolls were hiding in. Where treasures of varying values were hidden.

The second was Bofur, who had shyly approached him, making sure that “his majesty’s only injury was to his pride”. He didn’t care that his status was practically snuffed by the toymaker, because Bofur wanted to check on him. Because Bofur _cared_. 

But he would have to have words with Dwalin, eventually. To make sure she understood that he wouldn’t be willing to break their agreement for the Halfling.

And from the glare she sent his way, he had a feeling she would have words for him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, did I forget to tell you guys that there would be drama? Cuz there will be.


	3. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are confrontations of both a pleasant nature, and a not-so-pleasant one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick jump to Rivendell!

When it came to elves, Thorin used to have a relatively open mind. Not all elves were tree-shagging, heartless, flippant ninnies. There were some that were good, kind, and not at all spiteful because of their past altercations. Thorin was once one of the few dwarrows that was kind to them, willing to put past grievances aside. After Erebor, however, his point of view changed drastically, with good reason. Yes, thinking back, he could understand that Thranduil wouldn’t want to risk his people’s lives against a dragon, with no hope of victory. But the king of Mirkwood didn’t even try to offer aid to those in pain. Many of his people died, and such lives that could’ve been spared if he had even sent one healer. Just _one_.

So yes, he hated staying in Rivendell. To be guests of the people he despised. There were bright sides, however. His company, his nephews in particular, caused more mischief than ever before. They didn’t have to worry about orcs, or wargs, and the beds were quite soft. Plus their burglar seemed to have a fondness of them, and he hoped such fondness would deter any affections Dwalin had towards the hobbit. 

Speaking of his friend, he knew he had to speak with her. Of how she couldn’t court him. They wouldn’t have many opportunities to speak once they left, and he needed to tell her as soon as possible, so he could stop whatever mess it could form if he was too late. 

Balin could be an aid, as well. If he could just convince his most trusted advisor, Dwalin’s own brother, to dissuade his sister from stating her intentions, it could help. 

It was nightfall, and Thorin was on his way to take care of such matters, only to pause when he actually found Balin. For he was walking with their burglar, conversing. Was Balin already doing Thorin’s job to stop such madness? He only hoped so.

As quietly as he could, Thorin ducked around a pillar, trying to listen in on their conversation.

“Tell me, Mister Baggins,” He heard Balin speak. “What do you know of us dwarrows?”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know too much.” Their Burglar explained. “I am learning, though not as much, nor as quickly as I probably should.”

“Understandable. We’re a very private race, you see.” Balin assured. “There aren’t many outsiders who know much about our people and our culture. Of our women, for example.”

Thorin felt something ease at those words, for a large portion of his battle could easily be won with those words. Of course the Halfling wouldn’t know about dwarrowdams and their appearances. He probably didn’t even know that Nori of the siblings Ri was one, let alone Dwalin. The hobbit’s chances of having affections for Dwalin were slimmer, now. It would hurt her, he knew, but it was rare for an outsider to be attracted to a dwarrowdam, and Thorin was sure that Mister Baggins was no exception.

“…In fact, Mister Baggins,” Balin spoke, and Thorin’s thoughts were cut off, having missed a portion of his friend’s speech. “Did you know that there are members of this company that are women?”

Thorin felt his mouth twitching, awaiting the hobbit’s sputters and shock. 

“Oh, yes. I knew that.” That, however, was shocking to Thorin himself.

The dwarf whipped his head in time to see Balin gawk at the halfing, who seemed rather confused.

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” The burglar asked curiously.

“Ah-No! No, not at all, laddie!” Balin sputtered. “It’s just… there aren’t many outsiders who are able to tell the differences between our genders.”

He watched as Baggins put his hands on his hips. “Not to be rude, Master Balin, but even an outsider can tell the difference after traversing with dwarrows for an extended period of time.” He explained. “Yes, I admit I didn’t notice right away, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that they bathe separately from the rest of us, among… other things…”

“I see…” Balin spoke, lips twitching a little. “So you know that my sister is one?”

“Er-You mean Dwalin? Y-Yes. Yes, I knew that…” Thorin felt something hard settle in his gut as the hobbit stuttered, horrified that his pointed ears were darkening.

Balin was not helping anymore, as Thorin originally thought, for he was now _smirking_. “My, laddie, are you alright? You look rather feverish.”

“N-No! I-I mean, yes! Yes, I’m fine! I’m just… saying that I knew, is all.”

Thorin balled up his hands, for it was worse than he imagined. Their burglar, it seemed, had at least some affections for Dwalin, even when he knew that she was a woman, and a warrior on top of it all. So at least some of Dwalin’s affections were returned, though Thorin hoped that not all of them were. But how? That was what threw Thorin the most. Hobbits shouldn’t be so different than most outsiders, and shouldn’t find someone like Dwalin attractive. He was hoping that it was the case with _their_ hobbit, but clearly Thorin was wrong.

And Balin certainly wasn’t going to side with him, judging by the way he was smirking. Didn’t he realize how ill-suited the burglar was for his sister? How wrong such a pair was? How someone so weak and foolish, an _elf-lover_ to top it off, was not good enough for her? For his own _sister_? The one he defended with tooth and nail, even though she was practically twice his size?

His thoughts were derailed when a familiar rough hand grasped his shoulder. It was ages of trust that prevented Thorin from tearing that arm off of the owner. 

“Thorin,” Dwalin growled quietly, eyes barely flicking up to notice her brother speaking to the hobbit. “A word.”

Thorin pressed his lips together, allowing Dwalin to drag him away. He had no idea why Dwalin seemed so perturbed, though he had a slight inkling about what their conversation would surround. 

He wasn’t too thrilled about it, either way.

She managed to drag him into a quiet hallway, far from the ears of their companions. As if to make sure, she scanned their surroundings before narrowing her sights on her friend.

“This is about the Halfling, is it not?” Thorin cut in before she could speak, and if anything, her hard look hardened even more.

“Bilbo Baggins isn’t half of anything. He is a hobbit, and he has left his home to help us on our endeavor, as you know.” She groused, and Thorin sighed, truly exasperated, because his fears were coming true. “So I think I speak, not just for myself, but for the rest of our company, when I say that you should treat him with at least a little more respect!”

“I shall treat _Mister Baggins_ with as much respect as he deserves!” He snarled back. “As I have done since he signed that contract!”

“You and I both know that you have not!” Dwalin barked back. “You have done nothing but belittle him, when he has done as best as he could! He saved our _lives_ , Thorin! If it weren’t for Bilbo, I’m sure that all of us, or at least _half_ of the company would’ve been cooked and eaten by trolls! That should at least grant him some favor to you, but clearly it hasn’t!”

“Because if it weren’t for him, it wouldn’t have happened!”

“Because if it weren’t for your _nephews_ , you mean!”

“Why do you care?” Thorin finally hissed, standing as close as he dared to Dwalin, vibrating with pent up rage as he stared at his friend who was two steps from making the biggest mistake in her life. “Why do you care what happens to the hobbit, then? Well?”

“Someone has to-!” She snarled, but he cut her off. Because he needed to make himself clear _now_. He needed to let her know everything.

“That is a bald-faced lie, and you know it!” He growled. “It is as clear as day, Dwalin! I see it, I’m sure the rest of the company sees it! Mahal, Dwalin, your _brother_ sees it! You have softened! You have fallen for that hobbit, that… miserable excuse for a burglar, and you’re opening yourself up for a great deal of misery! Well _I won’t have it_!”

Thorin took a few deep, steadying breaths, and all that time Dwalin just stared at him, stiff and unmoving. But he needed to press on. He need to let her know.

“I refuse to grant you permission to court him.” He continued. “I will not allow you to escape our agreement so you could throw your life away on someone who doesn’t even _deserve_ it!”

“Then what of your precious toymaker?” She growled back darkly. “Will you just let him watch as you sacrifice yourself yet again because of your judgments?”

“I will to ensure your happiness!” He replied, his anger dying and being replaced with something akin to desperation. “Dwalin, you might hate me, but you are my friend. My sister. I will not let you get hurt again, if I can help it.”

It was Dwalin’s turn to take a few deep breaths, and when her eyes refocused, something in him clenched. For her eyes were dim, almost lifeless. It was something he only saw a few times, and every time he did, he had vowed to himself to do his best to make sure it never appeared again.

“I was never going to court the hobbit.” 

Thorin blinked at her words, unsure if he heard them correctly. “What?”

“I. Was never going. To Court. The hobbit.” She repeated, voice firm, but there was no anger in her voice. “I never had any intentions of doing so, despite what you might think.”

Thorin narrowed his gaze at her, for instead of putting him to ease, it unsettled him even more. There was something there, something hidden in her voice. Something that she wasn’t telling him. It left something foul in the back of his throat, and despite swallowing, the taste of it lingered. It was bitterness, something horribly familiar. Though why he tasted it now confounded him.

His thoughts were derailed when she stepped away from the wall, that hand planting itself on his shoulder once again.

“I ask this of you, my king. My friend.” She stated. “Do not throw your happiness away on my account. I can take care of myself, as I have once before. Unlike you, I readily give you permission to court Bofur, because despite your differences, I know he is your One. Your perfect match.”

It was quite a blow to his gut, her words, and he looked up at her. That was when he saw it. A deep sadness in the depths of her eyes. He once saw it after she was rejected by her brother’s apprentice. Saw it after she recovered from a great sickness and was found to be barren. And he saw it when she comforted her brother after Azanulbizar.

“What aren’t you telling me?” He finally asked, because he didn’t want his friend, his dearest friend, to ever be that sad if he could help it.

“Nothing of importance, I assure you.” She answered, squeezing his shoulder as if to comfort him, but it did not. “All I ask of you is, in return, you try to show a little more kindness to Bilbo Baggins. That is all.”

And with a final pat, Dwalin stepped away, leaving Thorin alone and feeling rather hollow.

“And make sure my brother stops spilling nonsense into his ears!” Despite the slight, harsh joke in her tone, Thorin wasn’t laughing. He really didn't think it was funny.

Truthfully, he wasn’t quite sure what to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note One: Yes, in my headcanon, if any of the company members were female, Bilbo would frikkin know. Of course, it wouldn't be his business, but it's rather hard to hide it from someone you're sharing rather close spaces with, no matter how private such information would be. He's a bit naïve, but not THAT naïve.
> 
> Note Two: Just a bit of angsty feels, there, Dwalin? 
> 
> ENOUGH! I hope you enjoyed this chappie! Let's just hope Thorin comes around. And soon.


	4. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goblins, orcs, and mountains. Oh my!

He could not linger on them for long, on Dwalin’s claims and assurances, for they left Rivendell not long after they had settled. They were never planning to stay for long, but Thorin was sure that his company had desired to stay for just a bit longer, if only for the soft beds and guaranteed meals, meatless as they were. He did not think he could abide his friend’s wishes, however. The hobbit was still weak and soft, without even the slightest clue as to how to wield the tiny blade now in his possession. 

Thorin watched him, though. Watched his interactions with the rest of the company. His nephews, his advisor, even his _Bofur_ had warmed up to him and, despite her claims, Dwalin was still acting like her besotted self. But why had she said that she wouldn’t court him, wasn’t planning to, when it was as clear as day that she _wanted_ to?

He felt rather foolish for not seeing it, for clearly their burglar admired her, at _least_. They weren’t as close as he was to whoever else warmed up to him, but he seemed to try and at least spark a good friendship with Dwalin. He’d walk with her, chat with her, and would reach for her for support if he tripped. If Bofur wasn’t near the hobbit, then Dwalin was. And Dwalin didn’t seem to have a problem with the closeness, either. Seemed rather comfortable with it. With Bilbo.

Clearly, Dwalin hadn’t tried to court him yet, nor was she rejected. If that were to happen, Dwalin would have quite a different attitude towards him. Nor had the hobbit tried to do the same, and if he did, he was sure Dwalin would go headlong into their courtship even if Thorin didn’t approve of it. Thorin highly doubted that Dwalin would try to do the sensible thing in that situation, anyway, and reject their burglar. No one, not even Thorin, could stand that hurt, puppy-eyed look he’d tend to get when he was rather upset (he used it to his advantage at times, though, the mischief-maker).

Either way, he didn’t approve. And he never would. Even if the looks Dwalin sent to the burglar were returned when she wasn’t looking. Even if he went pink in the ears when Dwalin made a comment. Because he wasn’t right for her, and would _never_ be right for her. Even if the burglar sometimes brought little smiles to Dwalin’s face. Even if she, too, went rather flustered if he did or said anything in a certain way. Even if they seemed to mesh surprisingly well, which Thorin would begrudgingly admit to. 

Because that wouldn’t last. Their hobbit would do something to tear Dwalin apart. Would get her hurt, or even _killed_. Their burglar was weak, after all. 

It was also hard to keep his promise to Dwalin, as it was surprisingly easy to see him as the soft, weak creature that he was. Of course, now that he thought about it, he was, perhaps, a little to hard on him after their ordeal with the Stone Giants. He had thought, honestly thought, that he had lost the few members of his family he had left. He thought he lost Fíli. He thought he lost Dwalin. _Bofur_.

Then to have both latter company members swoop over the edge of the cliff to try to save him whilst he was dangling off the cliff edge was just enough. It was the proverbial straw.

“He’s been lost ever since he left home. He should’ve _never_ come here.”

He didn’t care that those sad eyes were on him, because it was _true_. If the hobbit wasn’t there, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He wouldn’t have to sacrifice anything to save Dwalin. Wouldn’t have to give up Bofur just to make sure Dwalin was saved from heartbreak. 

He probably didn’t even have a chance with the toymaker, anyway, and that thought didn’t help matters either. 

The looks he got after giving orders once they found a small cave to take shelter felt painful. He didn’t feel like he deserved such looks though, but it was clear in the eyes of everyone, even his own nephews, that he probably went a little too far. 

When he met eyes with Dwalin before they settled down to sleep, they were hard. Angry.

“I’ll… apologize to him in the morning.” He eventually growled under her gaze, earning a rather curt nod.

“See that you do.”

He never got that chance.

When the cave floor opened underneath them, sending them all down into the depths of the mountain where they were promptly surrounded by goblins, their only saving grace was that they were all together. That their burglar didn’t get his chance to escape.

He then mentally berated himself for thinking that their burglar falling with them was a _saving grace_.

They would’ve been tortured, killed, if Gandalf hadn’t appeared, as was his wont, leading them through the mountain and into the open air of freedom. They lost many supplies and weapons, but Thorin could be proud that they left such destruction in their wake, even the death of the Goblin King (though he didn’t kill that disgusting creature). 

It took that much time for them to realize that they had lost their burglar. 

As Dwalin was the first to demand what had transpired, where he could’ve gone, Thorin felt something sink into his gut. Their burglar had tried to leave them before they fell. Perhaps he took his chance then to go home, even when the entire company was in danger.

He was angry, hurt, and he hated it. Because he was right.

The hobbit was ill-suited for their cause, for their company, and most of all, for Dwalin. He abandoned them to the goblins, to their possible deaths, all to go back to his little hobbit hole with its books, arm chairs, and _doilies_. It made him the lowest of the low. Scum of the earth, and Thorin hated the fact that he was right. That the hobbit was no match for Dwalin, and that he would eventually do something to hurt her. To cut her down. And he did, and the rest of the company suffered for it.

He ranted in his anger, then. Told him what he had surmised. The truth about their burglar. Now they could see what lowlife Bilbo Baggins of the Shire really was. Now Dwalin would stop being besotted with him. Now they could go on like he wanted: with nothing to slow them down.

“No, he isn’t.” Only for Thorin to turn and see their burglar standing there, worse for wear, waistcoat practically buttonless, and his letter opener being the only possession he had. 

As his company spoke of their relief, asked questions, all while the hobbit laughed it off uncomfortably, Thorin just stared. Because he didn’t leave them for dead. He got separated from the rest of the group but he _didn’t abandon them_.

“No!” Thorin cut in when Gandalf tried to brush it all of. “I want to know: Why did you come back?”

The hobbit looked at him then, lips working minutely, as if think of what to properly say. Because Thorin wanted to know why he didn’t up and leave them. It would’ve been the sensible thing to do. But he _stayed_. Despite everything that happened, despite how the company treated him (how Thorin himself treated him), he came back.

And he wanted to know _why_.

“I know you doubt me. I know you always have, and I do think of Bag End often. I miss my books, my armchair, and my garden.” He answered, voice surprisingly gentle as Thorin stared him down. “You see, that’s where I belong. That’s my home, and that’s why I came back. You don’t have one, a home. It was taken from you. And I will do whatever I can to help you get it back.”

Something in his words struck a chord in Thorin as he looked away. He never heard someone speak of such terms and sound sincere. Not once mentioning the treasure, or even the free beer. He didn’t even fathom that such reasonings could ever be meant.

He couldn’t help but realize that this, _this_ was why Dwalin might be so besotted with this man. This outsider. Because, despite everything, he found it in himself to care whether or not they had a home. To just care period.

No one could dwell on his words for long, for howls and battle cries cut through the air.

“Out of the frying pan…”

“-And into the fire. Run!”

It was chaos then, running from the orcs, even when they were bone tired, injured, and weary. Getting everyone up into the trees when they were outnumbered. Throwing pine cones lit with flames to hopefully ward them off. Eventually clambering onto one as it fell, leaving them dangerously close to falling to their deaths. 

Then Azog appeared. The pale orc he thought he had slain years ago. The one that beheaded his grandfather before his very eyes. The one who had sworn that he would be the end of the line of Durin. 

Thinking back, Thorin should’ve known he was being foolhardy at best when he charged at him, brandishing his sword and his shield. He should’ve realized that it would not end well before he was squashed, bitten, and tossed around. But if that never happened, he would’ve never witnessed an event that had shocked him to the core.

Before the darkness took him, as he saw an orc taking a blade to his neck when he couldn’t reach his own, a ball of dresscoats and glowing letter opener flew into his executioner, fighting and killing him before standing guard near the King’s prone form. He watched as the hobbit, their burglar, cried and lashed out, facing the orcs and wargs head on. 

Clearly, he had no experience, but clearly, it didn’t matter. 

He passed out then, just has his company had swooped in to join him, surrounded by screeches and flames. The next thing he saw was the wizard, surrounded by the hazy dawn.

“The Halfling…?”

“He’s alright. Bilbo Baggins lives and is quite safe. So is the rest of your company.”

That was the last thing on his mind right now (though he was quite glad he had that bit of information), and he forced himself up, being helped by Dwalin and his nephews, only to push them away. Because he needed to do this. He needed to let the hobbit know.

Needed to let _Bilbo_ know.

“You! What were you thinking? You nearly got yourself killed!” He shouted, slowly working his way towards him as his injuries screamed in protest. “Did I not say you were a burden? That the wild was no place for you, and that you had no place amongst us?”

As he approached, Bilbo averted his eyes, and Thorin just stared at him. Stared at the hobbit who went up against Azog. At the burglar who kept the trolls from eating his brethren before Gandalf could get there. At the man that had stolen his best friend’s heart. The man who was weak, soft, and was not good enough for her.

“Never have I been so wrong in all my life!”

With that, he embraced Bilbo. This foolhardy hobbit who put his all into trying to help them, even when he really had nothing to gain. Did it all when it seemed like the world was against him. He had proven himself, over and over, and Thorin could see it now. Maybe even see why Dwalin loved the little man he was currently crushing into his battered chest. 

It was then that Thorin swore that he would give the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, a chance. A real one. A chance at being worthy of friendship. Worthy of a reward that wasn’t fully guaranteed.

Even be worthy of a chance to be with Dwalin.

A chance at true happiness, even if their home wasn’t assured.

And as Thorin stood there, looking upon his home for the first time in years, seeing Dwalin gaze at Bilbo’s beaming face (though he didn’t notice), and seeing Bofur (who wasn’t paying attention and probably never would), he thought that such things were a true possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will it get better? Maybe.
> 
> Will there be angst? Possibly.
> 
> Will Thorin finally boff Bofur? Goodness, I hope so.


	5. Stubborn Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin talks with Dwalin.

Thorin needed to talk to Dwalin.

Over their trek to Gandalf’s skin-changing friend’s house, and the time they spent there (where Thorin spent most of that time recovering from his injuries), he had thought, he had talked, and he had come to a conclusion. 

It was ridiculous, how such a small brush of death could change someone’s point of view. And sure, Thorin still thought that Bilbo was soft and weak, but he was now making sure that things were being done to change that. He was no longer brushing the hobbit aside, but getting to know him.

No longer was he just “the burglar”. He was “Bilbo”.

And Thorin needed to talk to Dwalin about Bilbo.

He highly doubted that what he would say would ever hold any ground with her, but he needed to at least let her know his thoughts now. To know that he supported her.

Typically, Thorin would find Dwalin with Bilbo, training him. She was the best teacher of the entire company, and Bilbo seemed to trust her enough to show him how to use his small sword correctly without joking around too much (having a laugh is fine now and again, but not when they trump getting important things done). This day, however, he found her inside, sitting by the window as she sharpened one of her axes. As Thorin approached, he saw through the window that Bilbo was practicing with Fíli.

“Are you sure it’s wise to let my nephew train our burglar?” He asked, causing Dwalin to look up and then follow his line of sight. She eventually snorted, turning back to her axe.

“Well, he isn’t a terrible tutor, at least with weaponry.” She explained. “Besides, he volunteered, and Bilbo agreed to it.”

Thorin hummed, taking a seat next to her and watching the scene unfold. “He’s full of surprises, isn’t he?”

“Your nephew? Not really.” Dwalin replied. “Bilbo, however…”

“That’s whom I meant.” He replied, smirking a little as she chuckled.

“Yeah…” She murmured. “Our burglar is full of surprises.”

He looked at her, then. At the almost wistful look in her eyes. It was then that he decided to broach the topic.

“Look, Dwalin…” He stated, causing her to blink. “I know what I had said, earlier. About you courting Mister Baggins…”

“Thorin-.” She tried to cut in, but he pressed on.

“No, let me finish. I… I think I might’ve given my decision too soon, without giving it much thought.” He explained. “I’ve seen him, and he does seem… worthy. So, I… I give you my permission. I know you would probably act on it, even if I didn’t, but now I do. Now, you won’t have to worry about me trying to interfere.”

They stared at each other then, and Dwalin’s stare unnerved Thorin, if only a little. For he had never seen Dwalin look so surprised before. As if it was almost inconceivable for Thorin to say such things. 

Eventually, he started when she snorted, turning back to her axe.

“Well, Thorin, while I appreciate the gesture, it’s not needed.” She stated, causing Thorin to now look surprised. “What I said in Rivendell was true. I never intended to court the hobbit, and I still don’t. Feel free to go after the toymaker, regardless. Don’t let me have too much sway in your rulings.”

He stared at her, thoroughly perplexed. Did she truly have no intentions on courting Bilbo? Despite how she clearly feels, and after everything that has happened, she still wouldn’t do it?

Thorin couldn’t help it. “Why?” He asked, causing Dwalin to freeze. “Why won’t you? You clearly have affections for him, Dwalin, I’ve seen them! I’ve seen the way you treated him, the way you’ve helped him, the way you _smiled_ at him! I know you have at least _some_ desire to do what’s right by him, yet I can’t understand why you refuse to-!”

She cut him off by slamming the butt of her axe on the floor. A couple of Beorn’s dogs that were nearby turned their heads at the commotion, but Thorin wasn’t focusing on that. No, he was focusing on the dark look in his friend’s eyes. The hard set of her brow and the clenching of her jaw.

“You know exactly why I refuse to.” She stated darkly, and Thorin felt something painful twist in his chest that had nothing to do with residual wounds.

“Dwalin…” He breathed, trying to reach out and placate her. “If this is about your previous suitors… they weren’t worthy. They were scum of the mountain, and could not see your worth as a spouse.”

She growled then, standing and beginning to pace, but he pressed on.

“I’m sure that Bilbo isn’t like that!” He continued. “I’m sure that if you at _least_ give him chance, he would prove to all of us that he is nothing like-!”

“This has nothing to do with them!” Dwalin snarled, glaring down at him, and Thorin swallowed heavily at her. “This has-!”

She cut herself off, flinching, as if the mere thoughts in her mind were too painful to speak of. He waited, though. Waited for her to relax a little and look out through the window at Bilbo as he practiced his blocks with Fíli.

“This has nothing to do with my brother’s student. Nor does it have to do with the few others who tried to _tame_ me. Not even my… faults.” She spoke after a long pause after she collected her thoughts. “I have heard stories of dwarrows whose hearts were broken when they tried to court an outsider, Thorin. I’ve seen them waste away because a Man or an Elf didn’t want to ‘stoop so low’ as to ‘settle for a dwarf’.”

He watched as her eyes, that were ever watching Bilbo, turned somewhat pained.

“I have seen the hobbit lasses that live in Bilbo’s Shire.” She continued. “How they have curls on their heads and feet, but not on their face. How they are soft and ample, and not hardened and scarred. They are nothing like me, Thorin, nor I like them. There is no way that Bilbo would choose me, when he has those lasses at home to compare.”

Dwalin looked at him again, and Thorin continued to keep silent, even though there were hundreds of rebuttals on his tongue. Bilbo was surely different, for he lived alone. From his stories, he never married, and never had any desire to marry any of those lasses. They weren’t suited for him, and from the way he looked at Dwalin, she _had_ to be. How could she not see that?

“I’ve learned many things in my long life, Thorin, as you have.” She spoke softly. “One thing I’ve learned is to not fight a battle when you are sure to lose. So while I… appreciate your words, my friend… they’re not needed.”

With that, she scooped up her axe, fiddling with the handle a moment, and the pain in Thorin’s chest sharpened when he saw her shoulders shudder.

“I need to tend to Keeper, now.” She called as she began to walk off. “Make sure your nephew doesn’t chop off any of our burglar’s toes!”

When she was out of sight, Thorin shuddered himself, rubbing his face. Her words echoed his own fears as he thought of Bofur. How a male dwarrow couldn’t possibly want to settle for another, let alone a shamed King, and to go against the ancient laws that his grandfather had placed. Despite that, he always held a small kernel of hope, as he cherished all the little moments he had with him, trying to find meanings in his smiles and words that probably weren’t even there. 

Perhaps he was also fighting a losing battle.

“I take it you’ve tried to convince her to court our burglar?”

Thorin lifted his head to see Balin there, lips pressed and white brow furrowed. Something in his tone told Thorin that his friend tried to do the same.

“Have you already tried?” Thorin asked as Balin moved to sit next to him.

“Not with Dwalin, no.” His friend answered. “She would never listen to me. Something I learned many years ago.”

Thorin felt his eyes widen as Balin’s words sunk in. “You’ve spoken with Bilbo?”

“Not as boldly as you’ve spoken to Dwalin, but yes. Yes, I have.” He said with a tight smile. “It seems that they both can’t see their worth in each other’s eyes. He’s as dead set on thinking he’s not worthy of Dwalin as she is of him.”

Thorin groaned, rubbing his temples, for this was truly a mess. If anything, it reminded him of some of the old sappy, romantic novels he had read whilst watching over his nephews. All of which he had burned so that no one could trace them back to him. He had a reputation, after all.

“Balin, my friend,” Thorin spoke softly. “You have given me words of wisdom many times over the years, from Azanulbizar to when I thought my preferences were a sickness I could find no cure for. So, tell me: What in the Maker’s name do we do to stop them from acting like utter fools?”

Balin laughed then, and Thorin felt his hand slap his back a few times. “Well, your majesty, there is one thing we haven’t tried yet. That is, having _you_ speak with the burglar instead of me.”

Thorin winced, for he just started on getting on good terms with Bilbo. He was afraid that, if he tried to press the issue, it would bring about even more problems. 

“Are you sure that is wise?”

“Just broach the topic as gently as possible.” Balin advised. “And perhaps wait longer than just a few moments after he’s done with your nephew.”

Thorin sighed, gazing out the window at Bilbo, unable to fight the chuckle bubbling in his throat when their training dissolved into a wrestling match that Kíli joined not long after it started. At least he knew that his heart was true, and that he wasn’t trying to fully dissolve his arrangement with Dwalin on a sheer whim.

He just needed to try and make Bilbo see what Dwalin was having problems seeing herself.


	6. Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has a talk with Bilbo, and Bilbo flips it around.

When the three had broken up, Thorin walked outside, eyes trained on Bilbo. The hobbit had dusted himself off and went to sit underneath a nearby tree. He seemed relaxed, happy, and content, moreso than he had since he first joined them on their quest. Such things did little to ease him, for he was about to talk to a man he just started to know. Try to convince him to court Dwalin, for she was dead set on not doing so herself despite her affections.

Slowly, he approached, growing more curious as he did so. For he saw Bilbo fiddle with something in his pockets and then began to work it with a small blade (clearly one he borrowed, but he didn’t know from whom). When he was close enough, hopes that things would settle correctly sprung anew. He was working on something small. Thorin couldn’t tell what it was from where he stood, and he decided he might broach that topic soon. Anything to delay the inevitable.

“Good afternoon, Mister Baggins.” Thorin greeted, watching as Bilbo flailed and turned, tucking what he was working on into the security of his pocket, the knife being folded up and tucked away elsewhere.

“Th-! Master Thorin!” He replied. “Erm, yes! Good afternoon, and it really is quite good, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it does. The weather is fine, and my company is being fed, all the while not destroying things that don’t belong to them.” Thorin answered, lips twitching when Bilbo quirked an eyebrow. “Well, not most things.”

The hobbit chuckled then, and Thorin felt himself relax even more. “Do you mind…?”

“Oh, absolutely not! Sit! Sit!”

Nodding gratefully, Thorin eased himself onto the ground, propped up against the trunk of the tree. While they weren’t uncomfortably close, they were much closer than most would be.

“How are your injuries?” Bilbo finally asked. “Have they fully healed yet?”

“They are still tender,” Thorin answered truthfully. “But much better than before.”

“Good.” He replied with a grin. “I’m glad for it.”

They smiled at each other, and for a while they sat in silence. Enjoying their company without the need for conversation as they watched some of their fellow company members go about their day in the sunshine. Of course, Thorin knew he was delaying, playing for time.

Go for subtlety. That was what Balin said. Little did his friend know that his family was known for their utter _lack_ of it.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were working on something earlier.” He finally spoke, seeing Bilbo stiffen slightly. “I did not know you could whittle.” 

“Ah, well…” He muttered, and Thorin watched as he fingered the object hidden away in his pocket. “My father taught me it when I was young. I decided to pick up on it again. I’ve been getting some pointers from other members of the company. Bofur especially has been a great tutor.”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile, even as he saw said toymaker as he chatted with his cousin some distance away. “He’s a good man.” He revealed, swallowing a little. “And good with his craft.”

“Yes…” Bilbo muttered, and something in his tone unsettled him slightly. “Yes, he is.”

Thorin shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable and to avoid the peculiar glimmer in Bilbo’s eyes. “Do you mind if I ask about your little project?” He finally asked. “Perhaps new buttons to replace the ones you lost?”

He immediately regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, but Bilbo only laughed, finally pulling the object out.

“Oh, no! I probably should. I look right foolish with only one, don’t I?” He spoke around giggles. He rolled the object in his hand then, staring down at it. “But no… No, that’s not what I’m working on.”

“Then… Do you mind…?” Thorin asked tentatively, and he relaxed a little when Bilbo only hesitated for a brief moment before placing the object into his palm. He slowly brought it up to his face to examine it, rolling it around with a finger. Then he saw it.  
Oh.

“It looks like a bead…”

“Y-Yes, well… That’s what it’s supposed to be.” Bilbo responded, even as Thorin was more preoccupied with staring at the intricate carvings that were partially whiddled into the surface. “It’s-It’s a silly little thing. Something to pass the time. Nothing of real importance. Really.”

“You know, Mister Baggins… Bilbo…” Thorin muttered, licking his lips. “Amongst my people, when we decide to court someone, we craft things to gift them. One of the most important things we give our intended, and one of the first, is a bead that they might choose to wear if they accept one’s suit. Did you know this?”

Thorin watched as Bilbo pursed his lips before nodding. “Yes, I knew that.”

“I take it you have someone in mind, then…” Thorin continued, even as he handed the bead back to him. 

“Somewhat… maybe…” He heard Bilbo mutter as he rolled the little wooden object in his fingers. “I’ll probably never give it to them, though.”

“Why not?”

Bilbo scoffed. “It’s… I’m just being foolish like a tween.” He answered. “I’m… I’m doing this… making this, on a very thin strand of hope that I won’t be immediately mocked if I ever decide to risk everything and actually give it to… them. I already know they’ll reject me. I mean, why wouldn’t they? They could do so much better than me. Have any dwarf they want. Why would they ever want to settle for a simple hobbit like me?”

Thorin frowned, because those words were horribly familiar to him. He thought some of these things about the hobbit himself. 

“If I ever decide to let them at least know I was ever interested, I could tell them, give them this, once your home his reclaimed.” Bilbo continued after a pause. “That way, I can just run off home instead of having to stand by them throughout the rest of this journey, knowing that I was right and utterly foolish for thinking otherwise…”

Oh, that wouldn’t do. Thorin knew that their journey was dangerous, and that they had already risked their lives on a number of occasions. He desperately hoped that their luck would persevere, but deep down, he feared that at least one of them would die.

“That seems unfair.” He cut in harshly, causing Bilbo to look at him with wide eyes. “This road that I’ve lead us on, it’s a dangerous one. It has been since the beginning, and it won’t be getting any easier. Any of us, all of us could die at any time, and yet you’d hide this from your chosen when they could die without ever knowing of your affections? That you’d take such affections and hopes with you to the grave?”

“I-.”

“I know well enough the pain of not knowing, Bilbo. I know of your own worries and troubles very well.” He continued, effectively cutting him off. “But unlike you, I have never had anything to offer them. I still don’t. And my doubts have been forged by ancient law, of all things.”

Thorin stared at Bofur openly now, not caring that Bilbo noticed. That Bofur noticed. In fact, he _wanted_ Bofur to notice. To notice that he wanted so much with him, even if said toymaker thought it disgusting. Blasphemous. 

“Over these years, Mister Baggins, I have found this to be fact:” He continued, eyes not leaving the laughing, hat-wearing dwarf as his brother ambled over with bread and honey he snuck out. “The pain of knowing that your affections are not returned is less than the pain that comes from the hope that they are. I must deal with that pain every day, and I don’t wish it on anyone. Not you, or the dwarf that might feel the same pains as you.”

Thorin finally turned back to Bilbo, whose expression was blank.

“Do not force yourself into such suffering.” He concluded. “You might be surprised.”

He didn’t dare to try and mention that his fears were, in fact, unwarranted. But he decided that it was probably for the best. That was Dwalin’s business. Not his.

As Bilbo’s face scrunched as he fingered the bead in his hand more, Thorin feared that he, perhaps, spoke too much. It was one of the problems he encountered when he needed to have deep, heartfelt conversations with anyone: He either spoke too much, or spoke too little. Fíli was still confused as to where exactly dwarrow babes came from, and Kíli still turned green when someone said “turkey” too loudly. 

“Perhaps you’re right.” Thorin blinked up as Bilbo spoke, watching as he pocketed his bead. “I… I will think on it, but you’re right. I don’t think it’s very fair on either of us. And I don’t think I can sit on this for much longer. They’re bound to figure it out soon enough.”

Thorin fought the urge to snort, because Dwalin clearly wasn’t going to figure anything out when it came to the burglar. 

“Although, Master Thorin, if I may ask something of you?” Bilbo muttered, and Thorin nodded his assent. “Practice what you preach, and just tell him already.”

Thorin’s neck ached from how quickly he turned his head to stare up at Bilbo as he stood. “What?”

He just grinned down at him, dusting his trousers off. “’The pain of knowing your affections aren’t returned is less than the pain of not knowing that they are’.” He recited. “I see that you have affections for a member of this company. Someone I think you’ve known for at least a little while. Besides, as you told me, you don’t know if he’s suffering the same pains as you are or not. Though, actually, my best bet is that he is… Or rather, they are.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed as Bilbo made it a point to look off towards Bofur’s direction. He followed his line of sight, only to feel his breath catch in his throat.

Bofur was looking at him.

For the first time since he ever met the toymaker during his days as a travelling blacksmith, he saw that Bofur was looking at him. And he knew that look, for he held it in Bofur’s direction more than he could count.

Thorin tried to be as graceful as possible as he moved to stand long after Bofur finally caught Thorin looking and turned away himself. He scrambled up, seeing Bilbo’s grin from the corner of his eye.

“But I have nothing to offer him!”

“You have your heart.” Bilbo countered softly. “If that’s not enough, then I don’t think it’s worth it. Not to mention that I think Bo-er… _your chosen_ doesn’t have a need for much outside of that.”

It was ridiculous. Thorin had walked out to meet with Bilbo to talk to him into courting Dwalin. Not to get advice on how to court Bofur. Not to get the kick in the arse that his sister had been doing ever since she saw him making eyes at Bofur back when Kíli could barely walk. 

“How about this.” Bilbo cut in again. “If you go to your chosen, I will… do what I can to go to mine before we reach Erebor. Do you swear?”

Thorin swallowed, finding it a rather difficult task. Eventually, he looked at Bilbo and nodded.

“Good. Now go!” 

Thorin, later, would barely recall whether or not Bilbo stayed under that tree or went inside. Wouldn’t recall the sound the grass made as he walked across towards the bushes. He would recall, however, how Bombur and Bifur both gestured wildly and motioned towards Bofur, who kept crying out his confusion before Thorin stood before him.

“Bofur? If you don’t mind, I would like to speak with you. In private.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER!!!


	7. In Due Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin vows to have words with Bilbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if you guys feel like this has gone into the wayside! The 30 Day Au Challenge has been consuming my fanfic-writing life! 
> 
> Also, I just want you all to take a look at [THIS](http://tagathsketch.tumblr.com/image/56612169936). I mean, it's not just... but it has...!
> 
> Just...
> 
> Just click the link.

Oh, Thorin would have words with Bilbo. So many, _many_ words. He needed to track that hobbit down, find out where he was hiding, so he could finally, truly confront their burglar. Nothing would keep him from such a goal.

“If you’re thinking this loudly so early in the morning, I must be doing something wrong.”

Thorin grinned, relaxing further as he felt crafty, surprisingly nimble fingers work through his hair and massage his scalp. He was a king, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t move to press his form closer to the dwarrow beside him. 

To say that Thorin was content that morning would be quite the understatement. After he managed to convince Bofur to speak with him, he tried to tell the miner everything. Well, not quite everything, but what he had wanted. He tried to tell him that he had affections for him, despite the taboo such a claim had. Tried to tell him he wanted to court him, and that if he didn’t want the crownless king as a suitor, he would be fine with it (not really, but that was what he was going to say). He also tried to tell him that, while he did not have much to offer Bofur, beside himself and his own heart (part as truth and part as to what Bilbo had stated), he would do what he could to make up for such things as soon as Erebor was reclaimed.

He tried, but didn’t succeed with most of them. For as soon as he said, “I wish to formally court you, Bofur son of-.”, the miner was on him, holding him with a grip like iron and kissing him until Thorin could only recall his name.

Then, with a ridiculously wide smile on his face, Bofur said yes.

He said _yes_.

He also made a point to laugh a little at Thorin’s expense (“Really, your majesty. Did you honestly think I only came on this quest _just_ for the free beer?”), but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, because _Bofur said yes_. After all his fears of his grandfather’s laws spreading through out all the dwarven settlements, of thinking that a dwarf like Bofur couldn’t possibly want a shamed, blasphemous king as a possible spouse, his hopes were answered. All the little kernels he found in his smiles and words bore something that made them seem much more precious to the king than any gem or metal. 

Afterwards, Thorin didn’t care that Bifur had held his spear to his crotch while making some rather deadly threats to his person, nor did he care that Bombur had wagged a sticky finger at him and making sure he promised to do right by his brother, no questions asked. All he cared about was that Bofur said yes. That he wanted him, just as Thorin wanted him in return.

He did listen when Bifur told Bofur that he was right in calling his young cousin a giant, sniveling suss pot for thinking that Thorin wouldn’t ever ask him. That Bombur told him so. But he listened to it all while refusing to let go of Bofur’s hand. 

They went to bed together, innocently of course, and Thorin allowed himself to do one of the many things he dreamt of: curling around the miner and tossing his hat aside so he could properly get at his hair as he kissed him good night. Repeatedly. 

Now he was awake, hoping that his nephews wouldn’t come barging in anytime soon, and more than content to just lie with Bofur for as long as their bodies could tolerate.

“Apologies.” Thorin finally replied before tilting head up to see bleary brown eyes staring down at him, and he smiled when he saw that Bofur was doing the same. “I was just trying to figure out a way to thank our burglar.”

Bofur snorted, and Thorin kissed him for it. “What did he do?” He asked playfully in-between kisses. “Give you a kick in the pants?”

“Something like that.” He replied, biting back a rather indignant noise when he felt those hands skate under his shirt. “I also wish… that you would stop testing my restraint.”

“But I like where my hands are.”

“Yes, but you don’t have a cousin ready and willing to cut off important body parts, do you?”

Bofur laughed, and it really was a wonderful sound. He kissed the corner of his mouth, even if the toymaker didn’t heed his words and continued to stroke the skin of his back. “Well, I do, actually.” He retorted. “Plus, the one after mine has an axe. Two axes, to be more specific!”

Thorin scoffed, but paused, thinking of Dwalin. Of her words and claims, or lack thereof. Of how foolish it all seemed, now that he knew that the one she thought couldn’t want her actually did. He was even making her a _bead_. Yet both were dead set on their fears. He almost felt ashamed, that he could now have whom he wanted, yet Dwalin, his friend who had been through so much, refused to even try.

“Something wrong?” Bofur asked, and Thorin sighed, even as he saw how concerned he looked.

“Nothing…” He finally answered, curling even closer to Bofur, if that were possible. “It’s just… I don’t think you have to worry about her.”

Bofur frowned. “Really?”

“She approves of you.” Thorin explained. “Besides… she’s… a little preoccupied with her own feelings at the moment.”

He felt Bofur’s hand freeze. “How do you mean?”

Thorin frowned, looking at him. “Don’t you know?” He asked, and Bofur shook his head. “Well, it’s obvious to most everyone else, but she has… affections for the hobbit. For Bilbo.”

He couldn’t believe that Bofur honestly didn’t know, but clearly he did. His eyes widened and he smiled. “Does she really?” He asked. “Oh, thank Mahal! I _knew_ it! I knew that Bilbo was worrying over nothing! Oh, do you know if she’ll ask? Or should I ask when?”

He didn’t want Bofur’s smile to fade, but he had a feeling it would. “She won’t.” He explained, and he was right, for it vanished in an instant. “She refuses to act on her affections.”

Bofur groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Oh, Bilbo, what did you _do_?”

“He has done nothing.” Thorin explained. “It is her own beliefs that prevent her from doing so. I’m sure you know how rare it is for one of our kind to court an outsider, and have them respond in kind. How rare it is for affections to be returned. She believes she is not one of the lucky few, and is blind to Bilbo’s pining looks.”

Bofur snorted, and Thorin felt his lips twitch in response. “They’re blind fools, they are.” He laughed, tightening his hold on him. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

Thorin chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow before leaning in. “Oh, yes. We were foolish.” He breathed, kissing one of his cheeks. “So utterly foolish.” He kissed the other. “Although I can’t believe you couldn’t see how ridiculous I was, and how my sister kept trying to hit me for it.”

“I thought I did.” Bofur admitted. “But I thought I was kidding myself. I’m a commoner, after all, and a man at that. And here you are, King of Erebor, where the strictest of marriage laws were upheld.”

Thorin swallowed hard, recalling his grandfather’s words. The same man who encouraged him to play the harp and to be proud of himself, only to label him as diseased. How it brought back haunting memories of crying himself to sleep because he thought he was wrong, somehow. Broken. How it took Balin to tell him that he was just fine, and that there was nothing wrong with him, to help him see differently, slowly but surely. After all, Balin had such thoughts, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with him.

“I had tried to get them repealed.” He spoke, surprised at how gruff his voice sounded. “Before Smaug came. I was not the only one who disliked those laws, after all. My grandfather… he was not pleased.”

Bofur frowned, and Thorin leaned into the hand that then touched his cheek. “What happened?”

So much, Thorin wanted to say. He really did want to tell Bofur what happened to him. To Dwalin. But he couldn’t put such burdens on his shoulders. Not now, at least, but perhaps someday. 

“That, I think, is a tale that is saved for another day.” Was his answer.

“Alright, keep the mystery.” Was Bofur’s. “I think I can live with that… for now.”

He smiled at Bofur, because he knew he would have to say something about it someday. Because it seemed wrong to hide the fact that he was arranged to be married to his best friend, and it could only be dissolved if they both found others. 

“Very well.” He finally said, smiling as Bofur kissed him again. “Although, I think we might need to get up, or my nephews will come charging in.”

“They would spoil the moment wouldn’t they? Alright, then. Let’s face the music.”

It took them a lot longer than they had originally planned to get out of bed and into the common room. Bofur’s wandering hands didn’t help, nor did Thorin’s nonexistent protests. They did eventually leave their room, relatively presentable, their clothes only barely ruffled. Their company was there, scattered about in different areas, but Thorin was drawn to two in particular. First was Dwalin, who locked eyes with him before nodding her approval and turning back to her axes. She took care of them far too much, in Thorin’s opinion, but she had been doing so quite a bit lately. He wondered if it had anything to do with the second member that he focused on.

Bilbo was sitting near Balin and Dori. As the two elders chatted away, their burglar smiled at him, giving his own small nod, and Thorin saw Bofur grin at him in return from the corner of his eye. Of course, Thorin also saw that Bilbo then looked towards Dwalin, smile flickering in and out, fiddling with something in his pocket. Eventually, he pursed his lips and removed said hand before standing and walking in the direction of the kitchen, and Thorin was flooded with the urge to lock them together in a room and not let them out until it was all resolved. He wanted to march up to Dwalin, to tell her that if he could have happiness, so could she. He wanted to force her to tell him, or vice versa. It didn’t seem _fair_.

A hand on his shoulder drew him out of thoughts of bashing their heads together, and he looked at Bofur’s smiling face, feeling himself ease a little. “In due time, love.” He told him quietly. “In due time.”

Thorin let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relaxing as Bofur’s hand began to rub his shoulders. “I hope you’re right, Bofur.” He muttered. “I truly do-.”

A loud noise cut him off, and he watched as his oldest nephew, Fíli, launch himself from his seat next to Ori and flounder off in the same direction Bilbo had gone off to. It left a confused Ori and a sickly Kíli in his wake.

“What in the blazes is wrong with that boy?” Bofur asked loudly as they both approached the two.

“I-I don’t know!” Ori cried, even as Kíli shuddered. “I was just answering some of his highness’s questions, and-!”

“Kíli?” Thorin asked softly, and Kíli curled in on himself.

“Turkeys…” Oh, _no_.

“You talked about fowl?” Bofur asked curiously, and Ori shook his head.

“You talked about babies, didn’t you?” Thorin asked firmly, and Ori gave a meek nod. He then groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, even as Kíli whimpered.

“Thorin, how did you know that?” Bofur asked. “And what in the Maker’s name do turkeys have to do with babes!?”

Thorin groaned, bracing himself for an awkward conversation. He really needed to work on his communication skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Bilbo and Dwalin finally get together soon? Good grief, I hope so. I'm finding it ridiculous myself, and I'm WRITING this story!


	8. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be a WEE bit on the long side, but hopefully the content will make up for it.

In due time. That was what Bofur said about Dwalin and Bilbo. In due time, something would happen, and perhaps they would finally stop acting like fools and act on their affections. In due time, they might start courting.

Thorin had a horrible feeling that such a time had already come and gone.

Mirkwood certainly wasn’t a place to begin such things. At least Beorn’s was a safe haven, where one was comfortable and didn’t have to worry about random things leaping out and trying to kill you. Where you weren’t trying to stretch your rations to the limit and beyond. Where you didn’t have to worry about rivers that could send someone into a sleep they might never wake from.

Such a place was a nightmarish place. And such a place made your darkest thoughts amplify. Sadness, anger, and fear. Such things could consume someone if they weren’t careful. Thorin wasn’t even aware of it until he saw how Dwalin reacted in such an environment. She became more withdrawn, more prone to lash out and attack. There were times when she would step away from the camp, though not too terribly far, so she could take frustrations out on anything she could get her knuckle dusters or axes on. Even the slightest glance towards Bilbo seemed painful. 

“It’s the forest.” Bofur had told him. “It’s probably making all of her doubts surface. Not just the ones she has over Bilbo, either.”

“There are many who seem…” Thorin had murmured back. “… Downtrodden.”

“We all are, and I daresay, even you are affected.” He looked at his toymaker, as best he could, and saw the tight smile on his face. “No offense, love, but you’ve hardly ever let me out of arm’s reach ever since we started through here. Even now… well, look.”

He had a point, Thorin realized, for they were sitting for dinner, and Thorin had pressed their sides together tightly. So tightly that Bofur had to use his other hand for his utensil. 

“I apolo-.”

“Don’t.” Bofur insisted. “I’ve been very hesitant in being apart from you, too.”

Thorin probably made it worse by resting his head on Bofur’s, but no one was looking, and he felt so very muddled. He had put a very strong front earlier on in the day, but he felt too drained to do so now.

“I feel like this makes it worse.” He admitted. “That I am happy with you, but she isn’t happy with him. I feel guilty that I have this and she doesn’t, and I wanted…”

“I think we all wanted them to finally get their heads out of their arses, love, before we came out here.” Bofur stated, looking back towards the company. “But we can’t force them. Only they can do it. Even Gandalf said so.”

Thorin grumbled, recalling how the wizard had thwarted his plans to lock them in a room together when they were still at Beorn’s. Of his own wisdom on the subject, and how it seemed to coincide with Bofur’s. 

“I just don’t think they’ll have another chance,” Thorin whispered, looking at Dwalin as she seemed to give her food a hard stare. “I’m afraid that their chance has come and gone, and they’ll never-.”

“They will, Thorin, they _will_.” Bofur cut in, staying silent when they heard shuffling, and they turned to see how Bilbo had finished and tucked himself away to sleep. “It’ll happen in its own time, and it’s not like it can get any worse!”

Thorin scoffed, allowing Bofur to stroke fingers through his hair.

“It’ll get better from here on out. I’m sure of it.”

**xxx**

It didn’t.

In fact, it got even worse, particularly for Bofur.

A river had cut through their path, and they knew they had to cross it. They had found a boat, and had worked a system to get across with roughly three members in a boat at a time. Thorin was one of the last, for he wanted to make sure the others crossed before him. In the end, it left both him and Bombur to cross the boat. 

“Brothers first.” The larger dwarf insisted, and usually Thorin would be filled with warm glee at such words, now was not the time.

“I refuse to leave someone behind.” He told Bombur. “We go together.”

In the end, Thorin admitted that, perhaps, he should’ve listened to him. 

The boat faired quite well, going back and forth with each member of the company, big and small, and their supplies, vast and heavy, though dwindling. It seemed that the last two seemed to be the final straw as it began to crack midway across.

Thorin was agile enough to leap onto the shore before it broke, but Bombur wasn’t so lucky. Even when he tried to reach for him, he hit the water as the boat broke apart. 

They managed to get him out before the current could sweep him away, but the river was enchanted, somehow. Bewitched. For Bombur was in a deep sleep that nothing, it seemed, would wake him. They couldn’t leave him, they would never do that to one of their own, and they certainly couldn’t wait for him to wake. So they quickly tied something together to help carry him. Such a feat was far more difficult than it seemed, for Bombur was heavy, and even with six of the strongest dwarves carrying him, they moved in a slower pace, and had to take breaks frequently, sometimes switching out when someone was too tired to continue. It slowed them down a great deal.

It dampened everyone’s spirits, Bofur’s most of all. Thorin tried to comfort him, but the toymaker would just brush him off and continue on. He wondered if Bofur blamed him for what happened. That if he did not insist on making him go first, or making him wait, Bombur would still be awake. Thorin did feel guilt at this, because he was wondering those exact things himself. 

The only one who didn’t seem to mind too much was Dwalin, for she exerted her strength, and was one of the few who insisted that she help carry him. Thorin speculated that it was some peculiar way to work out her frustrations instead of wanting to chop at trees or do anything else too reckless. 

“I’m sorry,” Thorin finally told Bofur once they decided to stop for the night. To make camp and rest as much as they could. “If I didn’t insist on going with him, he-.”

“Stop.” Bofur hissed, and Thorin flinched at his harsh tone. “Ach, no, I didn’t mean… You don’t have to apologize. You have nothing to feel sorry for.”

“But Bombur-.”

“If either one of you had gone by yourself, we’d be worse off than we are now.” The toymaker cut in, tone much calmer. “Either you would be stranded on the other side of that… blasted river… or Bombur would’ve been washed away before any of us could’ve saved him. Besides, I… I know he’ll wake up soon. He has to.”

Thorin nodded, and he allowed Bofur to hold his hand, thumb stroking knuckles.

“There’s no way he’d sleep past too many meals, anyway.”

He tried to stop it, but he couldn’t. Thorin snorted with laughter at his love’s words, trying to control himself, but it only got harder when Bofur’s grin widened at his expression.

“That was terrible!” He finally said.

“Got you to laugh, though.” Bofur retorted before looking around. “I think we all need it, don’t you think?”

Thorin took a deep breath, calming himself. “You’re right.” He whispered, looking amongst his company, seeing Dwalin in her usual position at the outskirts. Seeing Bilbo, curled in on himself, fiddling with something in his pocket on the opposite side of camp. “Some more than others…”

_In due time_ , he tried to remind himself. _In due time_.

**xxx**

“Thorin!”

Said king shot up at the harsh whisper, turning his head in either direction before settling his eyes on Bofur, who was lying next to him. Said toymaker’s eyes looked wide and intense, lips pressed firm.

“What’s wrong?” Thorin asked, but Bofur merely tilted his head. He followed the direction, only to see Bilbo walking across the camp and slip around the trees. He frowned, for Bilbo never left camp. Even if he had to relieve himself, he would always go with someone else. A buddy system that was enforced with everyone these days. 

“Dwalin left in that direction a few minutes ago.” Oh.

Thorin’s own eyes widened and he looked at Bofur. “Do you think…?”

“Maybe.” He replied, eyes looking more harried. “I don’t know. Perhaps our burglar has finally decided to stop sitting around and to just go for it!”

“What if he doesn’t?” Thorin hissed. “What if he does nothing, like he as done until now?”

“I don’t know!” Bofur hissed right back. “We don’t really know… We won’t really know… unless…”

Bofur then sent Thorin a look, and he immediately cringed away.

“The last time I eavesdropped in any conversation Dwalin had with anyone, I got a black eye and broken ribs.”

“We won’t know unless you try.”

Thorin let out a deep breath, thinking out his options. If he didn’t do it, there was a chance they would never know if either was successful or they just made things worse between them. If he did, if either of them did something wrong, Thorin could finally enact his wish and bash their heads together, tell them that they love each other, and to stop acting like idiots.

“What if I get hurt?” Thorin asked finally.

“I’ll kiss it better.” Thorin rolled his eyes as Bofur winked. “Now, go!”

Thorin stood then, hesitating for only a few moments before finally stepping around the sleeping forms of some of his company, over some logs, and around some trees. At first, it was hard to figure out which direction either Bilbo or Dwalin went, but his ears picked up on their voices soon enough, and he followed them.

“… Can’t… Right now… Later.”

“Please, Dwalin… I’d rather… hear me… you cast me away.”

Thorin immediately cringed, for while he couldn’t hear all the words, he could tell it was seemingly going rather badly from their tones. Dwalin’s was clipped and impersonal. Bilbo’s was rather terse and watery. As they came into sight, he ducked behind a tree to watch without being unseen. Dwalin was Thorin’s friend, no doubt, but if she did anything too foolish right now, Thorin would have no problems beating her senseless for breaking the poor hobbit’s heart needlessly. 

He peered over, seeing them standing some distance away from each other. Bilbo was standing firm, brows furrowed, hands wringing at his sides. Dwalin’s face was a picture of cool indifference, but he knew those eyes, and unfortunately knew them well. She seemed defeated. Like she was awaiting something painful. 

Thorin watched as Dwalin crossed her arms with a tired sigh before nodding sharply. “Very well.” She said. “You may.”

He saw Bilbo swallow hard before nodding, taking a few cautious steps towards her. Thorin saw how his shoulders hunched a little, like he was slowly curling in on himself the closer he got to her. He watched just as Dwalin did as Bilbo clumsily fished into his pockets before holding an open palm out to her, head slightly bowed. He watched as Dwalin’s eyes widened, her mask crumbling, and her lips parted, her expression slightly slack.

“Bilbo…” She breathed, taking the bead Thorin had once seen unfinished from the hobbit’s hand. She cradled it in her hands, as if it were incredibly fragile, precious, as Bilbo spoke.

“I, Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo, formally wish to state my… intent to court you, Dwalin, daughter of Fundin.” He spoke in the formal words with a shaky voice as he stared at his hands. “I… I have grown very… affection-besotted… affectionate with you- _of_ you… ever since we first met.”

Thorin couldn’t breathe, didn’t dare to, as he tried to read Dwalin’s expression as she continued to switch between staring at the bead and staring at Bilbo. 

“I may not be a dwarf, and carved from stone, but I will not falter. And I wish that… you will consider me… However…” Bilbo continued, voice cracking a little. “If you already know you do not wish for my… you do not want me, let me know swiftly… but do so gently… Please, that is all I-.”

“Yes!” Dwalin cut in, her own voice loud and somewhat hoarse before lowering it. “I… yes…”

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief, resting his head on the bark of the tree. They did it. They _finally_ did it.

“Are you… really…?”

“Yes…”

He saw Dwalin move forward to rest her hands on Bilbo shoulders, and her forehead on his, and Thorin allowed himself to smile at the sight. As he heard her whispers, he allowed himself to be glad for her. Happy that she was happy. That she finally realized that she was being an utter idiot. 

When Bilbo let out a high, reedy noise and pulled her down by the beard for a kiss, he finally turned and walked off. He knew where they stood with each other now. He did not need to see the rest. Let alone risk Dwalin seeing him and making him pay for it. 

He arrived back at the camp site to see Bofur sitting up and having an avid conversation with Nori. He decided to ignore it for the time being, and merely sat down next to Bofur, only for the thief to turn her sparkling eyes on him.

“Well?”

Thorin blinked. “Well, what?”

“What happened, of course!” Bofur cut in and Nori nodded.

He frowned, because if Nori was involved, so was money. 

“They are now courting.” He answered, and Nori rolled her eyes.

“Details would be nice.” She groused and he sighed.

“Bilbo asked her, and she accepted.” He told her in quick, clipped tones. “Happy?”

“Hobbit custom or dwarvish?” 

“Dwarvish!” Bofur answered. “Bilbo was making a bead!”

“Was it dwarvish?”

“Yes! Yes, it was!” Thorin snapped, even as his Bofur and Nori jeered. “Now exchange your money before they come back!”

“You hear that?” Nori cried, waving her hands. “Pay up, lads!”

He watched with wide eyes as his entire company sat up with either grumbles or cheers, tossing money in one direction or another. He was a bit surprised at how they all seemed involved, especially his nephews. 

When Bofur caught a bag, Thorin merely scowled at his wink. “Don’t worry, love.” He said. “I’ll share.”

“You better. It might nurse his pride when I’m through with him.”

Thorin gulped, looking up as Dwalin strode back into the camp with Bilbo not far behind. He panicked, wondering what could’ve happened between the time he left them and now. But he saw a gleam in her beard, a gleam that came from polished wood, and he relaxed a little. 

“You spied on us!” Bilbo accused.

“He made me do it.” Was Thorin’s only defense against the twin scowls aimed at him as he motioned towards a sputtering Bofur. It was foolish, yes, even childish. But when Dwalin glared like that, he found himself quite reduced to such tactics. 

“Can you blame us!?” Was the toymaker’s response. “We’ve been waiting for you both to stop acting like fools! We just wanted to make sure!”

Dwalin growled, outright _growled_ , but she cut herself off when Bilbo placed a gentle hand on her arm, even as he still sent Bofur a hard stare.

“Well, it just doesn’t seem fair!” He said. “Especially when you left us out of the betting pool.”

Thorin couldn’t help but bite back a grin as Dwalin smirked down at him, even as she turned towards her brother, making a hand motion. Balin, one of the winners of the bet, tossed his winnings towards her, clearly not caring going by the smile on his own face. She caught them easily in one hand before placing the sack of money in one of Bilbo’s. He stared at it curiously, even as Dwalin leant in and whispered something into his ear to make him flush a bright red before kissing his cheek. There was a quiet murmur of approval, even as they smiled at each other.

“Alright, boys! Show’s over! Go back to bed!” Dwalin snapped, causing the company to laugh, even as she scooped Bilbo up into her arms and carried him to his lone bedroll. 

“Why does she get to boss us around?” Nori grumped, even as she moved to back to her brothers as Bofur laughed at her. “I mean, my brother’s ten times stronger than her!”

“Oh yes, say that a little louder! I’m sure they can’t hear you!” The toymaker said, ducking a swing and laying back next to Thorin, who was smiling, as if he did not fear for his well-being moments before. “Well? What did we tell you?”

“I admit, you were right. All it took was time.” Thorin replied, watching as Bilbo sat in Dwalin’s lap, nuzzling her neck as she seemed to be fighting off a smile. “Perhaps we should give them some privacy.”

“Yeah, it is time to grab some shut eye, isn’t it.” Bofur said before grinning and patting his thigh. “Alright! Come on, you’re the big spoon tonight.”

“I was the big spoon last night.”

“No offense love, but I’d rather wait until we’re back in a _real_ bed so I don’t have to worry about whether I have your actual hair in my mouth or spider webs.”

"...Just go to sleep, love."

"Give us a kiss, first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice job at foreshadowing, Bofur. Niiiice joooob.


	9. Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin reflects, and thinks that Bofur is some kind of prophet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda rushing through this, I think. Maybe. I dunno.
> 
> But seriously, Bofur, king of foreshadowing you are!

After Bilbo and Dwalin officially got their heads out of their arses, started courting, and everyone exchanged their money, things seemed to move smoothly. Yes, they still had Bombur to care for, but the tensions caused by it lifted, if only a little. Dwalin, at least, seemed to have had the most significant of mood changes. No longer was she glaring or snarling, rushing off when they took breaks to find something to damage. She seemed as upbeat as she could be in a dark, foreboding forest, helping to carry a particularly heavy dwarf. Of course, there was also Bilbo.

She was somewhat like his shadow, or he was hers. They were never far from each other, always making sure that the other was close by. Whenever they would break for camp, they’d be as close as possible, talking to each other in quiet, calm voices. Sometimes they just sat next to each other, other times she would haul him into his lap. There were times that she would repeat what she did with him that one night, scooping him up into her arms and carrying him off. Bilbo didn’t seem to mind any of these things. In fact, he seemed to enjoy them. It was almost sickening, their displays, and Thorin would sometimes voice such things. Then Dwalin would merely send him a look and then quietly gesture to Bofur, who was somewhere close by, and then he would promptly shut up. 

A few days had passed, and then a great thing happened indeed: Bombur woke up. 

Yes, he promptly asked for something to eat. And yes, he seemed far dejected about having to give Bifur his money (he apparently guessed incorrectly about the style in which Bilbo would court Dwalin). But none of that mattered, because he was _awake_. Bofur no longer had to worry about his brother’s seemingly-endless sleep. They no longer had to contemplate just leaving Bombur behind to die. And no longer did they have to carry him. It seemed, for a while at least, that their journey was looking up.

Then the spiders came. Then the elves. _Thranduil’s_ elves. 

Now, as Thorin sat in his cell and trying not to figure out a way to break down the door, he realized that, perhaps, Bofur had the mystic gift of prophecy. He had spoken up about some things, and then something would happen. After all, the toymaker did mention spider webs that one night. His gifts might even be more powerful than Oin’s portents.

Though he was sarcastically wishing that Bofur’s prophetic gifts could somehow help him escape, such thoughts lead to others, and he began to worry about his company. They had been separated in the forest, with hardly any food or water. Of course, he heard some of the guards whispering about other dwarves, but he wasn’t sure. In fact, it made him more concerned. For all he knew, they were dead, killed by the spiders that had once swarmed them, or the elves that held him captive. 

He prayed that they weren’t. That his nephew’s weren’t. That Dwalin wasn’t, or Bilbo. 

Bofur…

“Thorin!”

He jumped, straightening in his seat, looking around. That voice was familiar, but when he looked towards the bars, he could not see anyone. It was strange, for he was sure he heard someone. A familiar someone. A hobbit, to be specific.

“Who’s there?” He demanded, trying his best to keep quiet as he did so.

His answer came in the form of Bilbo Baggins, who suddenly appeared before him. 

“Bilbo!” He hissed. “Bilbo, my friend, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see you.”

Bilbo grinned at him, sticking something into his pocket. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Thorin decided to forego how his comment could be seen as a possible insult, and instead pressed onward. “Where are the others?”

“They’re here, being held prisoner. They are being fed, though, and that’s a comfort, at least.” He responded, and Thorin felt weak with relief. His company was alright. “I’m sorry it took so long to find you. This place can be quite a maze!”

“I am just glad that you are all well.” Thorin said. “Though how you’ve managed to elude capture yourself is a mystery…”

“I have a ring.” Bilbo answered. “I… I found it when we fell and were captured by the goblins. It makes me invisible.”

“A gift indeed…” He muttered. “Have you managed to plot our escape yet?”

Bilbo’s lips pressed together. “I’m working on it. It’s difficult, trying to hide and think of things while also trying to find food and water.” He explained. “But I will free you. All of you.”

Thorin nodded, wringing his hands on the bars. He wanted to press it. Wanted to demand that Bilbo work harder. Work faster. But he was clearly cold and weary. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked rather pale. 

“Have you been successful in securing food and rest?”

Bilbo gave him another grin. “I have, when I can. Dwalin herself has been fretting the most.” He explained. “Made me take a nap when I went to see her earlier before finding you.”

“As she should.” Thorin said with a nod. Of course Dwalin would make sure Bilbo was somewhat comfortable, despite the circumstances. Even if they weren’t courting yet. 

Bilbo fidgeted a little then, wringing his hands. “You… You’re not bothered?” He asked, and Thorin furrowed his brow in confusion. “That… that it’s Dwalin. That I… the bead I made was for her. I know you haven’t really said much, and I know she’s a good friend, but…”

“My only concern is that your courtship is moving quite swiftly.” Thorin cut in, recalling how quick Dwalin was in responding. How they both seemed to be rather quick in general. Their talks in the dark of Mirkwood. Their exchanges. Even now, Bilbo had a braid in his hair, and a bead had fastened it. He knew that bead, for it was one of the first that Dwalin made. One that she originally brought along in case certain circumstances never occurred. 

“And yet, you seem to be dragging your heels.” Bilbo quipped, though there was no heat. Indeed, Thorin had yet to give Bofur anything except promises. He had said it was to wait until after Erebor was reclaimed, which was true, and Bofur had accepted that, but there were other reasons as well. 

The Durin family had a long-standing tradition of gifting their intended beads, like any other dwarf, but the beads they gifted were made long ago. The first they ever made. It was an old tradition that they kept, though many other families have moved passed it, preferring to gift their intended the best they could ever make instead of the first. Currently, the first bead Thorin ever made was kept in a small pouch on Dwalin’s person, which she had yet to return to him. He had a feeling she was keeping it to make sure nothing bad would happen, despite saying that she approved of Thorin’s choice. 

“I have reasons.” Thorin explained. “I do plan on moving along, however. Or at least, I hope to.”

They needed to escape first, and they both understood that. 

“I shall continue to search, then.” Bilbo said, digging in his pocket, clearly to get at his ring. “To find a means of escape and the like. I-.”

“Go to Dwalin.” Thorin cut in. “Stay with her a while. Make sure she’s aware that you’re alright, and tell her I am as well. Eat and rest, then look for an escape.”

Bilbo blinked, as if a little shocked by Thorin’s words. “I… Are you sure?”

“I want nothing more than to get out as soon as possible, but I’m also aware of the fact that loved ones need to be assured, like me.” He answered. “Not to mention that our burglar would be no good to us if he is starved and stumbling about half-asleep on his feet.”

Bilbo’s shoulder shook in suppressed laughter and Thorin reached through to grasp one firmly. 

“Take care, friend.” He told him. “And send my regards to Bofur as well.”

“I will.”

**xxx**

It took some time, but eventually Bilbo told him of an escape plan. Of course, said escape plan seemed quite vague, as if the hobbit didn’t want Thorin to know the fine details. But at least they had one, and Thorin felt assured. 

It had what felt like months before a figure approached his cell door and opened it, revealing Dwalin standing on the other side, Bofur a step behind her.

“Bilbo has told me of the plan, and we have to get going.” She explained quickly, stepping aside and allowing Thorin to step out of his cell, where he promptly took Bofur into an embrace. While Bofur seemed to want to laugh it off, he also seemed very hesitant to push Thorin away. “And I hate to break this reunion, but we have a schedule.”

Thorin hesitantly let Bofur go. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

As they rushed on, Dwalin leading the charge, Thorin made sure to walk next to her.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Bilbo told me the plan. I might be older than you, but I have a good memory.”

“I speak of him, but not like that.”

Dwalin sent him a look, even though her steps did not falter. “I thought you approved of him…”

“I do.” Thorin assured. “But I am not sure I approve of your haste in courting him.”

Dwalin let out a breath, faltering slightly, only to usher the rest of their group ahead before turning to him. “There are many things I have in response to that. We’ve had time to talk, and to get to know each other, long before he gave me his bead. Mirkwood has brought out most of our secrets, and there isn’t much else one can do in a large company that we have besides talk.” She explained as they continued onward. “It has been brewing for months, for me and for Bilbo, as he’s told me. Not to mention that…”

She faltered then, and Thorin watched as she swallowed.

“He’s… He’s my One.” She finally finished. “I’ve known that for a while, and I know that, while hobbits do not have such things, Bilbo feels, _knows_ , that I am his. I am sure you know of this feeling, friend.”

Thorin swallowed, the years of watching Bofur’s smiles and laughs from afar ringing through his mind. “I do not want you to rush headlong into something and not be careful.”

Dwalin smirked. “When is love ever careful?” Was her reply, slapping his back. “At least I’m sure that you do not have to break his face this time.”

He flushed, even as Dwalin urged him to keep going. And going they did, all they way into a cellar that overlooked a river. A cellar full of barrels. Empty barrels. Thorin immediately filled in the blanks Bilbo had supplied when revealing their escape plan and immediately stated his opinion.

“Oh, _no_.”

**xxx**

Their escape was perilous, as was expected when you’re being thrown about in a raging river inside a sealed, leaking barrel. Many dips, spins, and bumps were involved, and Thorin had sworn himself to never go near moving water as long as he could. Moving water and apples, at least.

Such things were the least of Dwalin’s worries when they finally made it to land and managed to begin freeing themselves. She immediately chastised and embraced Bilbo, for though he was quite the burglar to burgle thirteen dwarves out of the Thranduil’s dungeons, he was foolish to think that just clinging to a barrel was a wise idea. 

He saw Bilbo smile up at her, shaking and wet, as he was busy tending to his nephews, Bofur, and Bofur’s siblings. “Well, at least we’ve escaped.”

That got him a growl and a kiss for his trouble. 

Of course, travelling with no supplies, and no _clothes_ , was difficult, but they didn’t have to travel far. They found Men, and they brought his company to Lake Town, where Thorin was able to negotiate their stay and comfort for a short recovery period. While some were hesitant about letting them stay, let alone their cause for being so near the mountain, many others celebrated their arrival, and they were treated as honored guests. They got clothes, food, and plenty of ale, which everyone enjoyed to the full. As they made their way to their quarters, laughing and with higher, drunker spirits, something broke through their reverie.

A loud, hacking cough broke through a bout of laughter, and they all silenced to look towards Bilbo, who was hunched, red-faced, and the source. Dwalin was there, doing her best to support him, and Oin soon approached him as well.

“Oh dear…” Bilbo breathed, coughing a bit more. “I… I fear I might be a bit ill…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WILL BILBO BE OKAY???
> 
> SPOILERS: There are none, because _really_. But for the sake of the story, WHO KNOWS!!!


	10. Sickness and Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dwalin cries, and Thorin just can't with emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO I DID NOT ABANDON THIS FIC I SWEAR. The 30 Day AU Challenge ate up all my inspiration, and that was why I only updated this once during that whole time. 
> 
> So, here you go! I'm off to work on other fics as well.

Oin had ordered Bilbo to be put in bedrest, plying him with teas and pungent salves to stave of the illness and clear out his lungs. Cool towels for fever, and thick blankets for chills. He had said that it was a cold, caused by their starvation and being stuck wandering a dungeon without anything proper to eat or to help keep him warm. Bilbo himself said he would be fine, just needed some rest and a lot of tea, but it became rather clear, rather quickly, that it would take more than that to make sure that their burglar’s simple cold didn’t become lethal.

Bilbo claimed that Oin was overreacting. The company didn’t want to risk it regardless. 

Many of his company had taken post by his bed. Even Thorin had done so. But none   
were as vigilant, were as constant, as Dwalin. 

She was always sitting at his bedside, even when there were others there as well. She assisted Oin when she could, and spoke to Bilbo gently when he was awake, and sat there when he wasn’t, holding his hand, his shoulder, any part of him she could touch. Many had tried to pry her away so she could care for herself, but only a few had succeeded without walking away in fear. Her brother was the one who could achieve it the most, followed by Nori, surprisingly, though Thorin suspected that the two dwarrowdams had always had a peculiar friendship. 

Now, it was Thorin’s turn to take watch once again, and he sat across from Dwalin, whose only focus was Bilbo. Bilbo, who was sleeping soundlessly, pale save for the peculiar flush on his cheeks. 

“You have not eaten.” Thorin tried, but Dwalin didn’t even blink.

“I’ll be fine.”

“He will not appreciate you falling ill out of worry, you know.” He tried again, and this time, Dwalin just pressed her lips together tightly. 

“Then he should hurry up and get better.” She rebutted, and Thorin fought the urge to roll his eyes at her childishness. “That way, I won’t have to worry.”

“But he has gotten better.”

“He’s still ill.”

Thorin clenched his jaw to stave off a rather loud outburst. If all dwarrows in the throes of romance were like this, he thought, he only wished that nothing would befall Bofur. If only to save himself from Dwalin’s taunting remarks. 

They sat in silence, then, watching Bilbo’s chest rise and fall, waiting for him to stir and politely ask for something. Anything. If only to send Dwalin down the steps and be forced to take a detour by the company to eat and sleep. 

“He told me of the winter.”

Thorin blinked, looking at her, seeing as she brushed a curly strand of hair from Bilbo’s forehead. “Pardon?”

“I’m sure you know what Mirkwood can bring out in a person, dwarf or otherwise.” She explained. “Since we couldn’t follow through most of the ‘proper’ courting procedures, we talked. Of our families, our customs, our past…”

He stiffened a little, feeling something burn unpleasantly in the back of his throat. “Did you…? About our…?”

“No! No…” She cut in. “I will only tell him of that pact if it’s absolutely necessary.”

Thorin let out a small breath of relief, and Dwalin continued. “But he told me of the winter.” She said. “Of one winter, in particular. Something called the Fell Winter. When the Brandywine River froze solid enough for orcs and wargs to cross it and into his home. Of the illness and death. Hobbits, he told me, are usually a rather hearty bunch, but put them in cold or damp for extended periods of time, and… well…”

She took a shuddering breath, then. “I should’ve remembered that.” She stated firmly. “I should’ve insisted that he take my barrel. I should’ve remembered that he was already weakened by everything else and that the water could push it over the edge, but I was _stupid_ enough to-.”

“ _Stop_ that.” Thorin hissed, gentling his tone shortly thereafter. “We were under a lot of pressure, imprisoned. You are not to blame for this. No one is.”

“I should’ve realized!” She snarled, and he felt a little horrified to see that her eyes were damp. “I should’ve realized, and I should have _done_ something. I-…”

Dwalin rubbed at her face, breath shuddering, and Thorin tried to remain calm and supportive, but it was difficult. He was never good at dealing with emotions, and he was horrible with crying. 

“It’s not fair…” She finally whispered. “I have never been this close to a man outside of family and friend. I never suspected to find my One in my entire life, and he…”

She had lifted her head, and Thorin was just thankful that her eyes weren’t fixed on him. “He spoke of his dreams, along with everything else. The dreams he had for us. Dreams that I wanted to become reality, regardless of how early on in our courtship we were.” She whispered, voice sounding grating and harsh, moreso than usual. “He spoke of his love for me, of what he saw in me, and I believed him. I believed every word, and I still do.”

A harsh sob ripped through her as she rested her forehead on Bilbo’s arm. “After living so long, I have found the man I want to spend the rest of my days with, and now he could be ripped from me by something as diminutive as a _cold_!”

Thorin couldn’t help but think that his friend was being a bit dramatic. They had other threats, larger threats, that could tear them apart, a dragon being one of them. Surely she realized that, and surely she remembered Oin saying that he was getting _better_. Of course, he remembered how he had acted when his nephews fell ill when they were in their fifties, and how hysterical both he and his sister had been. He also remembered how tired and hungry he was. 

“Dwalin, he will not die.” Thorin assured, quickly moving to correct himself. “At least, not from this. And I will personally see to it that you both have the rest of your days to spend together, in Erebor, the Shire, wherever you wish to spend them. But right now-.”

“Dwalin?”

They froze, turning to look at Bilbo as he gently eased his bleary eyes open.

“Bilbo?” She breathed, and the hobbit sent her a tired smile.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you go and get something to eat?” He asked kindly, shaking his head weakly when she moved to protest. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I know for a fact that the last meal you had was dinner from last night, and that was just a small plateful.”

Dwalin frowned, and Bilbo lifted a weak hand to touch her cheek. 

“I don’t want you to fall ill yourself.” He continued. “For then where would we be?”

“But what if you need-.”

“Thorin’s here.” Bilbo cut in, smiling at the king briefly before turning back to her. “I’m sure you can trust him to help me, as I do. Now, I am grateful for all your care, but now I just want you to take care of yourself. It hurts me to see you put yourself through all this over me, just as it hurts you to see me stuck in bed with this stupid cold.”

Thorin heard her sigh tiredly as she touched the hand on her cheek. “I will go eat something.” She assured. “And then I’ll-.”

“Go to bed.” He cut in again. “A rickety chair does not a good bed make.”

Thorin heard Dwalin grumble and growl before she eventually stood. “Fine…”

“Good,” Bilbo stated, allowing her to kiss his forehead before she turned to walk out. “Dwalin?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.” Bilbo told her, and Thorin fought the urge to fidget when he saw his friend’s eyes soften. 

“I love you too, ghivashel.” She said, leaning down to kiss his forehead again before standing and swatting Thorin’s shoulder. “And stop your shuffling! It’s completely normal.”

It was Thorin’s turn to grumble as Dwalin left the room and he saw Bilbo’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“She has a point.” 

Thorin just rolled his eyes as Bilbo let out a giggle, comforted by the fact that it didn’t sound as watery as it had before.

“There haven’t been many who could convince her to go do that.” He finally said. “Thank you. I was starting to worry about her.”

“So was I. I’m just glad she listened to me.” Bilbo replied. “Although… I kind of did it for… selfish reasons.”

“Really?”

“Well, I have to make water, and I’m not quite comfortable with using the pot while she’s around.”

**xxx**

It was a full week after Bilbo’s first horrid cough when the company heard some peculiar sets of footsteps hobble down the stairs. They froze, knowing that only Bilbo and Dwalin had been upstairs, and they wondered what all had happened. 

They all relaxed when a familiar hobbit came into view, followed by an even more familiar dwarrowdam.

“Hello, everyone!” Bilbo greeted. “I was wondering if I could trouble someone for some toast…?”

They cheered, even as Bombur immediately moved to comply to the hobbit’s wishes, for it was his first wish for solid food in days. It was a clear sign that he was better, on top of the fact that he was able to walk on his own towards the kitchen where Bombur was. 

Thorin approached Dwalin, who had moved to lean against the doorframe, and he stood with her, watching their company. 

“You thought he would die.”

“Shut up.” She cut in, though it wasn’t too harsh. “I’ve hardly ever dealt with someone who had a cold, Thorin.”

Thorin’s lips twitched a little. “We could still die.” He cut in after a pause. “Any of us. Not just Bilbo, either.”

Dwalin nodded sharply, knowing that he was referring to the mountain that lied ahead. The mountain they would be heading for in a short period of time. 

“We must cherish what time we have left, then.” She muttered, and Thorin nodded, blinking when he heard her shuffle about, clearly digging for something.

He turned to see what it was, and then promptly froze, for she had pulled out a bead. Not the bead Bilbo had given her, which was still nestled into her beard, but the one Thorin had given her so many years ago.

“I apologize if I had not been very forthcoming with this.” She explained, looking at him. “Things have been… chaotic, as you know.”

Thorin nodded dumbly, even as she grasped his hand and forced the bead into it, closing his hand around it with a solid pat. 

Any other dwarf would have been completely heartbroken at having their bead returned to them. A rejection of intent. An ending of a courtship.

Thorin only felt a little dizzy. He never dreamed that the day would come that he would have it returned to him, nor did he dream that he would have someone else to give it to. Someone he wanted to be with out of love, and not out of obligation. Out of fear. Out of the self-perceived honor his grandfather thought would be forever destroyed if he followed his heart. 

“It’s time that you make him an honest dwarf.” She told him. “And to cherish what time you two have left here. Just like I intend to.”

Thorin nodded, feeling his eyes sting. “Thank you.”

She merely smiled before moving to join Bilbo and Bombur in the kitchen. He watched her go, only for his eyes to settle on Bofur, who was currently laughing with Nori about something or the other. He didn’t even hesitate to pull Bofur aside and to offer him the bead.

Bofur didn’t hesitate in accepting it and giving Thorin a bead of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to at an extra bit to this. Kiiinda tying it to Reprieve in Laketown... Buuuut I decided to keep this teen. 
> 
> If you guys REALLY want me to post it up here, then I shall.


	11. Apologies After Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle, Thorin wants to make things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped the gold sickness, I know. If you really want, I can post a little ficlet of it, but it'll be angsty.

All Thorin could feel was pain. Staring up at the roof of the tent he was in, his chest throbbed with it, and it radiated as far as his toes. 

But none of that felt any worse than the pain that came from remembering how he got there. How he allowed the same madness that took his grandfather to almost consume him. How he almost cost the lives of his company needlessly because of his greed. How he banished the one person who tried to save them, and lost one of his dearest friends in the process. 

He knew Dwalin was suffering from it, but it was nowhere near as bad as his. For she didn’t need someone to pull the world out from under her to make her see the error of her ways. She didn’t need to see her family almost die to finally, fully recover. 

“You’re awake.”

Thorin turned, and the pain he felt multiplied at whom he saw. 

Bofur looked tired and hurt. Sullen. While he did not physically hurt him, he knew he did things that were just as bad. He ignored him, brushed him off, and refused to heed his words. 

Tears stung his eyes as he looked at the miner. “Bofur,” He choked, “Bofur, I’m so sorry-!”

Something in Bofur’s eyes eased a little and he approached the bed. “Hey, now.” He breathed, and Thorin only sobbed when he felt those familiar fingers comb through his hair. “I’m just glad you’re awake. Gave us quite a fright back there. We didn’t even know if you’d live.”

“I don’t deserve to-.”

“ _No_!” He snarled, cutting Thorin off and glaring down at him with bright eyes. “You listen to me, Thorin Oakenshield: The dwarf in that mountain was not you. Was not the man working several jobs a day to feed the mouths of his family. Wasn’t defending people who were lower than scum. Was not the man who took us all on this mad quest just so we could all have better lives for ourselves. Certainly not the man lying here in front of me. Don’t think you’d have the strength to be, anyway.”

Thorin shook his head, for Bofur’s jokes couldn’t cheer him up right now. “I’ve done so many wrong things, Bofur.” He said. “I can understand if you cannot accept my apologies. That you… that you might wish to end our… courtship.”

“Stop being so dramatic!” Bofur snapped, but there wasn’t much heat in his voice. “Look, I’m not saying that all is forgiven, because it’s _not_. But the damage isn’t permanent. It’s fixable, and I _want_ to fix it, and I want you to fix it too.”

Thorin stared up at him, feeling those hands cup his cheeks. “How could you be willing to do that? After all I’ve done?”

Bofur snorted. “You’re just too pretty.” He answered, and Thorin actually snorted this time, breath seizing when Bofur pressed his forehead to his own. “But also because I love you, you soppy old dwarf.”

“I love you too.” Thorin breathed, reaching a shaking hand up to grasp one of his braids. “And I’ll do what I can to fix this.”

“Not just this, mind.” Bofur corrected. “Fix what happened with everyone. With the Men and Elves. With Bilbo.”

“Bilbo…” He whispered, his gut sinking. “Where is he? Where is our burglar?”

“He’s nearby. Courting guidelines stipulate that he’s allowed to stay if his intended’s injured, despite your proclaiming that they no longer had your leave to do so, and Dwalin… well… she met the wrong end of an orc’s axe.”

“Is she…?”

“Almost lost an arm, the bloody idiot, but she’ll be okay. Healers got to her in time.” Bofur then smirked. “She’s currently whinging about said healers while Bilbo tries to get her to rest more.”

“I… I need to see them.” Thorin told him. “Please, either I-.”

“You keep your royal arse in that cot, or I’ll tie you to it. I’ll get them. The last thing you need to do is try to sit up at the least.” Bofur ordered, a small grin on his face as he straightened. “But I’m… I hope that…”

“Please.” Thorin pleaded, and Bofur’s grin widened. 

“I’ll be right back with them.”

He didn’t have to wait for too long, for as soon as he just started to doze again, he had returned with the banished burglar and his old friend trailing behind him. Bilbo didn’t look too bad, only a few cuts and bruises, and he was limping a little. Dwalin looked worse, with her arm tied up and bound in a sling that stretched across her chest, with gashes on her face and knuckles. 

“Y-You wanted to see us, Your Majesty?” Bilbo asked softly, looking clearly terrified. Dwalin kept to the tent entrance, tensing when the hobbit took small, cautious steps towards Thorin.

“Bilbo Baggins of the Shire… My burglar… My friend…” Thorin spoke, stressing the last word. “I cannot apologize enough for the damage I’ve caused. You only acted in the best interest of our company, of the ones we loved, while I allowed the sickness to claim me.”

“You… You didn’t allow it, Thorin.” Bilbo breathed, hobbling forward a little faster now. “You just got sick, is all, and you weren’t the only one.”

“But I still allowed it to happen, and I caused the most damage. To you, and to the rest of the company.” He stressed, wincing when a fresh wave of pain wracked through him. “If only we were more like your kind, valuing food, drink, and merriment over gold and jewels, the world would be a better place.”

Bilbo grinned, though it wavered as his eyes seemed to glisten. Warily, Thorin reached out and grasped one of his small hands in his.

“I hereby revoke your banishment, Bilbo Baggins. The banishment that was wrongfully placed upon you.” He announced. “I hope that you do not let my slight stop you from staying at Erebor for any longer than you had originally planned.”

Bilbo’s grin broadened. “Thank you, and we’ll see. Although…” He answered, grin wavering. “If… If you could… Could you also give back permission for Dwalin and I to continue courting…?”

Thorin laughed, even though it pained him. “I do…” He answered, glancing back towards Dwalin, who also looked a little amused, and also a wee bit pleased. “Though I don’t think it’s needed. If I know her, she would’ve continued on regardless.”

“Damn right.” She groused, finally stepping forward. 

He grinned at her, seeing as she moved to stand next to Bilbo, grasping his shoulder with her good hand. 

“I’m glad to see that you’re both alright.” He finally said as sincerely as possible.

“So am I.” Dwalin remarked. “I think we’re also glad to see that you didn’t die, but I’m only speaking on my behalf.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Of course I’m glad.” He quipped, and Thorin couldn’t help but grin at how light things seemed to be going, even as Bilbo looked a little uneasy as he glanced between them. “Well, I’ll go see Bofur and check on the princes. You know, leave you two to… talk…”

“Okay.” She replied, kissing Bilbo’s forehead. “Just be careful.”

“ _You_ be careful!” He argued. “I’m not the one who almost lost an arm!”

Dwalin just scoffed as they watched Bilbo hobble over to Bofur where the dwarf threw an arm over his shoulder and lead him out. Once he was gone, something clenched at Thorin’s heart as she slowly turned to look at him.

“I am sorry, Dwalin. For what I did to Bilbo, and to you.” He told her firmly.

She merely took a deep breath, dragging a stool over by a free hand and sitting on it. “Actually, I should thank you.” She said, and his eyes widened. “No, I don’t mean I wanted you to attack him. What I meant was that, if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have woken up. I wouldn’t have been able to move to defend him. I…”

Thorin heard her shutter, and despite his pain, he hoped that she wouldn’t start crying again. “The sickness had a stronger hold on me than I could’ve ever imagined.” She confessed. “I… I was needlessly cruel to him. I’m shocked that he blessed me with another chance!”

“Then don’t waste it.” He told her. “I’m certainly not going to waste mine.”

Dwalin snorted and he smirked. “We make a right pair, don’t we?”

He chuckled. “Indeed.” He said. “I don’t think Erebor can handle us again as the terrors we were. I might not even make it-.”

“You will if you know what’s good for you.” She cut in, sending him a look. “I did not risk my hide in helping you just so you can die before properly being king for at least a day!”

Thorin couldn’t help but snort, even though her words were meant to be serious. He did owe her, owe the company, after all that had happened. He owed it to Bofur, especially, to fix things and make it better. To have a proper courtship after so many years of almost needless pining. 

“Besides,” Dwalin continued, breaking through his thoughts. “Whose going to marry Bilbo and I? Certainly not my brother. Or _Dain_.”

Thorin whipped his head towards her at her words, eyes wide. “Dwalin, you can’t be-.” He breathed. “After just a short time, it’s not sensible to-!”

“Oh, not _now_!” She scoffed. “Don’t be silly! I might be a bit reckless in love, but I’m not stupid. Besides, I’d like to at least wait until we’re fully healed before then.”

“That still seems like a rather short amount of time…”

“Because you didn’t let me finish.” She quipped. “I’d also like Dís to be there. Not just because she’s a friend, but because she’ll keep her boys in line so they don’t do something stupid.”

Thorin snorted. “Alright, then. You have my word that I’ll live long enough to make you the first Baggins dwarf in history. At least.” He remarked. “Really, I can’t believe you’re talking about weddings at a time like this.”

“I never thought I’d talk about weddings period.” She remarked right back, a soft look in her eyes. “Let alone be happy about it.”

Thorin swallowed, knowing how things could’ve been if Bilbo and Bofur weren’t there. If Thorin didn’t say anything. If Bilbo didn’t give him the kick he needed to find the courage to say anything. Of course, he realized that the hobbit was the major reason why things had panned out the way they did, and it seemed Thorin owed him more than he originally thought.

Now that they had spoken about it, he couldn’t help but think of a wedding of his own. The King and his Consort, his sweet miner and toymaker. If things between them were fixed in the way he hoped they would be, then such a hope could very well be his future.

“I didn’t think I’d be thinking about it at all.” He finally muttered, looking at Dwalin. “I blame you.”

Dwalin laughed, wincing as it jostled her injured arm. “Well, I take full responsibility, then.” She replied, grin broad. “But I think things are going to be okay, now.”

Thorin had a feeling that Dwalin might be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy carp, this fic is almost done. It kinda just caught up to me, and I'm a little surprised with myself. 
> 
> Seriously guys, I only have one, maybe two chapters left. 
> 
>  
> 
> ... But I do have the next part roughly planned out already.


	12. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which times are good, and there's also some moving on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!... Technically. Epilogue's coming up!
> 
> Can you guess what happens in this chapter, though? I bet you can.

Thorin, son of Thraín, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, married Dwalin, daughter of Fundin, to Bilbo Baggins several months later. 

Erebor was still in shambles, and they didn’t have the proper attire, décor, or much of anything truly appropriate for such a ceremony; but no one seemed to care about it, Bilbo and Dwalin especially. Of course, Thorin had a feeling Dwalin preferred it that way to save herself from having to wear a traditional gown over anything else, but he decided not to press the issue. She still managed to look impressive enough in her attire, as did Bilbo. And despite everything else, they looked ridiculously happy, and that was all that mattered.

Dís seemed rather perturbed about the entire situation, having arrived in her caravan mere days before the wedding was set to take place. Like Thorin, she felt like Dwalin was moving far too fast. That they could afford to take things slower. No one could really sway her from her mindset, even when Dwalin helpfully pointed out that she was ridiculous enough to wait a whole five years before she married her dear husband, even when he was her One, and it was only because of Fíli’s conception that they finally married.

She still refused to be swayed. That is, until she actually met Bilbo. They were thick as thieves the moment that he kindly invited the princess to tea in the temporary living quarters he was sharing with Dwalin. It was hard to fathom how well they got along, and it struck a little fear through the entire company when they would cackle together.

But then Bilbo told them his own thoughts on the matter, and it eased them, but also broke their hearts a little.

“She reminds me of my mother.” He had said, a wistful smile on his face. “I think they would’ve been great friends, if she were alive.”

So, despite the rather hurried matter they took things, it seemed that Bilbo and Dwalin were happy in their wedded bliss. They seemed more besotted with each other than before, if it were possible. Plus, Thorin had the misfortune of having his own temporary rooms situated down the hall from theirs, and he had to _hear_ how well things were going.

Of course, it was their luck, Thorin had surmised, that caused such happy, productive days to take a turn for the worse.

He had been told by a rather frazzled Dís what had happened when he and Bofur were working together on plans for the mines with the leaders of the excavation teams. And Balin was there to hear the news as well, and he didn’t think he ever saw his old friend pale faster than he had.

Dwalin, it seemed, had fallen ill. Having been throwing up in the morning before falling to the ground in a dead faint some moments before.

Typically, it wasn’t cause of too much alarm, but dwarrows were known for their resilience, and Dwalin was the most resilient of them all. The last time she ever fell truly ill, well… It caused more damage to her body than anyone ever predicted.

Thorin had made sure someone had left to tell Bilbo (who was busy himself helping with the cleaning of the treasury) before he joined Balin in rushing to their quarters where they were barred from entering until Oin was finished. Dori was waiting for them, and he had embraced Balin the moment he was in reach, refusing to let him go until he managed to collect himself. 

It felt like years before the doors opened and Oin had stepped out, face set in a hard frown and looking rather perturbed. 

“Her old doctor was an inexperienced fool.” The old dwarf groused. “Had no idea how the body worked, and scarred the poor dam needlessly.”

“What do you mean?” Balin asked, pulling away from Dori. “How is she? Will she be alright?”

“She’s fine!” Oin assured. “Physically anyway, but her poor head is rather muddled, I suspect.”

“Why?”

“Dwalin’s not sick.” The old doctor finally informed them with a tired sigh. “She’s pregnant.”

It was deathly silent in the corridor as everyone tried to fathom this information. Bofur and Dori seemed elated at first, but slowly grew more and more confused and concerned when they took in the expressions of Balin, Thorin, and Dís. 

“That… That’s not…” Balin started before shaking his head. “We were told that was not possible.”

“Well, either I’m right, and he _was_ a fool. Or I’m wrong, and hobbits are miracle workers.” Oin stated. “But she’s pregnant. Very pregnant. A little old to be, but I don’t foresee there being any major complications. She’s healthy enough, as I said. I’m just worried that she’ll have a mental break before Bilbo can get to her.”

Thorin swallowed roughly, stepping forward. “Might I speak with her?”

Oin frowned before nodding quickly. “I’d rather her own husband do it first, but go ahead.”

“I’ll be quick.” Thorin replied, already moving around the old doctor before opening the doors as quietly as he could, slipping inside and freezing when he saw his friend.

Dwalin was sitting in a chair, curled in on herself, and staring off into nothingness. She was in her barest essentials, clothes-wise, and looking a bit pale. And even though Thorin’s entry was rather loud, she didn’t react in any visible way. Not even a twitch.

“Dwalin?” He finally pressed as the door shut behind him. At first, she didn’t respond, and Thorin wondered if she heard him until she finally took in a deep breath.

“He told me I was damaged.” She answered after a while. “That… That _bastard_ told me that I was…!”

She hid her face in her hands then, and he heard her take a shaky breath. Thorin hesitated, because he was never good at dealing with these things. But this was a subject he knew about. Knew how painful it was for Dwalin, who had always dreamt of being a mother before such dreams were crushed years ago. He knew how painful such things could be, though he could never fathom how horrible they could be for her. Then to finally have such dreams revived, and in such a matter, well… It was understandable why she would be so emotional, despite how uncomfortable Thorin felt in the presence of it.

Fighting every instinct that screamed at him to not do so, he marched over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He didn’t dare to hug her, never did, but he hoped she would accept that much comfort, at least.

“I was told I would never live up to my obligation.” She continued, voice watery before she snuffled. “That I would amount to nothing. That I would always be alone!”

Dwalin was outright sobbing now, and Thorin began to rub her back, feeling her body quake with the force. 

“Dwalin, my friend,” He told her, trying to keep his voice as calm and as even as possible. “Just look at how you’ve proven him wrong! You are not alone, and you never amounted to nothing! No hack of a doctor had leave to tell you that, especially when you’ve just proven how wrong he was. Proven him wrong thousands of times over.”

Dwalin cried for a while longer, eventually grasping his hand in hers as she continued to sob, before finally sitting up with a loud sniff, taking a handkerchief that was in her pocket (clearly a gift from Bilbo) and wiping her eyes and nose with it.

“I think Bilbo played a bit of a part in this, as well.” She finally told him, a hint of a smile on her features, and Thorin laughed.

“You’re right on that, I think.” He replied, taking a seat across from her. Watching as she sniffed a bit more and wipe a few more tears from her red eyes. 

Eventually, he watched as Dwalin put one of her large hands over her middle. “I’m pregnant, Thorin.”

“I heard.” He told her, getting a look for his tone. “And I congratulate you.”

Dwalin huffed a little, looking down at her middle again. “I’m going to have a _baby_ …” She breathed before looking at Thorin with wide eyes. “Oh, Mahal, what will Bilbo think?”

“Bilbo Baggins would be a fool not to think of this as nothing short of a wonderful gift.” He assured her. “And we both know that Bilbo Baggins is no fool.”

“You’re probably right…”

Thorin leaned towards her, then, as she seemed transfixed with her hand as it stroked her belly. “The more important question, Dwalin, is what do _you_ think?”

“I’m shocked.” She told him. “I… It hasn’t really set in, I think, but…”

Her lips trembled and fresh tears spilled from her eyes as she sent him a wavering smile. “I think I’m very happy.”

He smiled at her in return. “Then I’m happy for you, too.” He told her. “And I think Bilbo will be happy as well.”

It seemed as if the mere mention of his name summoned him, for the moment Thorin had said as such, the door burst open and a rather harried, filthy hobbit rushed in.

“What happened?” Bilbo asked, sounding quite out of breath. “How is she? Where- _Dwalin_!”

“Bilbo…” She replied, allowing Bilbo to rush towards her and embrace her tightly, her head resting just under his chin as she clutched at his arm tightly with one hand and held him close with the other. Thorin grew a little uncomfortable again, but decided he would power through.

He was getting quite good at that, lately.

“Oh, Dwalin, I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Bilbo rambled off, lips pressed against her head. “Someone had just told me, and I came here as fast as I could.”

Thorin winced a little at hearing Dwalin make a sound akin to a whimper as she just turned to hide her face in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” He pressed. “Dwalin, please tell me.”

She finally did look up at him, a strained smile on her lips. “Nothing’s wrong, mizmin.” She assured softly. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and Thorin watched Bilbo’s furrowed brow deepened. He had a feeling that she could’ve picked better words to describe such a situation.

“Dwalin, obviously something is wrong.” Bilbo continued. “Please, you have to tell me. I… I can handle it. I swear I can.”

“The news isn’t bad, Bilbo.” Thorin assured as Dwalin rested the side of her face on Bilbo’s chest as said hobbit looked at him. “It’s merely… a shock. Something she never expected to happen.”

Bilbo, if anything, only looked more confused. “Perhaps, then, someone could actually _tell_ me?” He pressed. “I would like to know what it is that shocked my wife so much that she’s in tears.”

Thorin cringed a little, because it certainly wasn’t his place to tell Bilbo the news Dwalin seemed incapable of delivering. But he knew he was worried, and that Dwalin was still reeling from the shock of it all.

“… m’pregn’nt.” They finally heard her mutter into Bilbo’s dust-covered shirt that surely smelled more like dragon dung than it did posies. 

Bilbo blinked, trying to urge his wife to lift her head up once more. “I’m sorry…? I didn’t catch that…”

Dwalin did lift up her head again, swallowing hard. “I… I said I was pregnant.” She repeated, voice still cracking. “W-We’re going to have a baby.”

The shock washed over his face immediately after the first syllable of that certain word. For a horrifying moment, Thorin feared for Dwalin. Feared that Bilbo had no interest in being a parent. That all the assumptions Thorin had about him that had once been proven wrong were in fact true. That Bilbo would lash out, go hysterical, possibly go as far to demand that she _get rid of it_. To leave for the Shire without her, leaving Dwalin alone and hearbroken: The exact state he wanted to avoid for her.

He knew they had rushed things. He knew that it was all a bad idea. But a divorce could scorn her honor, and an annulment was no better. They’d have to kill him, then. Nice and quick. Dwalin would mourn him, but she’d move on eventually. She didn’t need a husband to raise her child, anyway. She already had plenty of men around her that would happily fill the role as a group effort. 

Just as he was trying to figure out how to hide the body, Bilbo finally reacted on some other level besides shock. He laughed, his open mouth slowly forming into a smile as his laugh grew.

“We’re-We’re pregnant!” He laughed hysterically, cupping her face. “We’re going to have a baby! Oh, Dwalin, that is fantastic!”

Dwalin, who seemed a little concerned herself, allowed herself to smile before Bilbo swooped in and kissed her, bold and brazen, right in front of her friend and King. As Bilbo pulled back and continued to ramble on ecstatically, they exchanged grins mixed with happiness, humor, and relief.

“We’re going to be parents! You’re going to be a mother! I’m going to... t-to… _oh_ …”

Their smiles instantly vanished as Bilbo’s color drained again and he stumbled a bit on his feet.

“I… I’m going to be a f-… f-father…!” He rambled, swaying a little before catching himself. 

“Bilbo?” Dwalin demanded, immediately standing with Thorin and moving to help him. “Bilbo, are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah, love, I’m fine.” Bilbo assured. “Just… Just trying to absorb it…”

“Are you sure?” Thorin pressed. “If not, perhaps you should sit-.”

“No! No, no, no! The last time I fainted in front of you was over a dragon! This… I won’t faint over this. This… is a _million_ times better than a dragon, and… and doesn’t require fainting as a reaction…” Bilbo breathed. “Just… Just didn’t eat enough today. Feeling a bit drained, is all…”

They continued to watch him, waiting for that one moment when Bilbo would sway and not be able to catch himself. To make sure Bilbo didn’t hit his head too hard on the floor. 

After several deep breaths, Bilbo straightened, beaming at them. “There!” He stated. “See? I told you I was…!”

He faltered again, swaying a little more before his eyes rolled back. “Nevermind.”

With that, Bilbo promptly fell to the ground unconscious, leaving both his wife and friend quite shocked.

**xxx**

“How is Bilbo doing?”

Dwalin huffed a little, the noise muted slightly by the volume of the goings on in the small dining hall they had managed to clear out for such occasions. “He’s got a mighty bump on the head, but Oin says he’s fine.” She explained. “He really hadn’t eaten a whole lot today. Claimed the dung put him off food entirely.”

Thorin snorted, looking towards said hobbit as his nephews managed to convince him to dance. 

It was a rousing dinner, celebrating not only the arrival of the caravan that held the wives and children of both Gloin and Bombur especially, but the news that a dwarrowdam was expecting the first child of a new era. A good era, for Erebor, as it would be rebuilt and would grow to hopefully match the splendor it once was and even surpass it. 

“I take it his opinion on your growing family hasn’t changed?” He asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. 

“Of course not.” She assured, watching as a mug of ale was passed to Nori with a look of longing, for she was no longer allowed to partake. As soon as it disappeared from her line of vision, she rounded back on her old friend. “Really, Thorin. I’d have hoped that you would have a little more faith in my husband.”

“I have quite a bit of faith in him.” He defended. “And you just like saying that, don’t you? That he’s your husband.”

“Of course I do.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Wait until you’re married yourself, and _then_ try to tell me it’s ridiculous.”

Thorin merely rolled his eyes, eventually locking them onto Bofur as the man laughed and sang. The bead Thorin had first placed in his hair was joined by a number of others, just as Thorin was sporting the ones he gave him respectably. 

“You might have a point.” He remarked. “But I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? And you’ll be able to watch it all unfold.”

He saw from the corner of his eyes how Dwalin faltered with her glass of water, expression shifting from amusement to something more guarded. Secretive.

She was hiding something.

“What is it?” He asked immediately, watching the muscles in Dwalin’s jaw jump.

“I don’t want to bring it up now.” She deflected. “It’s not a topic one discusses amongst such a gathering.”

“ _Dwalin_ …”

She snarled a little, turning to face him. “Bilbo and I are going to go to the Shire.”

Thorin froze, feeling numb. He wasn’t sure it was a pleasant feeling. “W-Well…” He finally forced out. “I know that Bilbo needed to sort things out back home, of course, but-.”

“We’re going to live there.”

Now that feeling, Thorin was sure, was certainly unpleasant. “You’re leaving us?”

“We’re not going to abandon you all! Don’t be ridiculous!” She groused. “But… But we both agree that… perhaps… for our child, it might be nice. I think it’s nice, and I know Bilbo misses it. Besides, I…”

She faltered then, hands clenching. “I don’t think I can stay here, Thorin.” She confessed. “Yes, Erebor is my home, but it brought out a darkness in my heart I didn’t think could ever exist. That I don’t _want_ to exist. I can’t risk falling to it, again. Not when there’s also a _child_ at stake, now.”

“That same affliction exists in my blood as well.” Thorin defended. “Yet I stay.”

“You are also a King, and the object that caused your affliction had long since been sealed away.” She replied. “Thorin, I am not saying I’m abandoning everyone, or that I’m abandoning you. But I can’t stay here. The good memories I have here no longer outweigh the bad. Not after what happened with Bilbo. I can’t do that to him again.”

He swallowed hard, knowing his own afflictions and what it had done to his own relationship with Bofur. A large step to fix what they had actually involved the sealing away of the arkenstone. Unlike Dwalin, however, he had confidence that he wouldn’t fall victim to it again, and that his family would help him if he did. No matter what. 

“Did he ask you to-?” He finally asked, but Dwalin shook her head.

“I did.” She said, pressing on, even as shock was clearly evident on Thorin’s face. “I… I had asked him a while ago about. He said either way, but… We at least want to try there. Hopefully the hobbits don’t mind a dwarrowdam living in their midst too much.”

The image came unbidden, and it was the picture of Dwalin in proper hobbit garb. All bright colors on a dress she would never wear normally, with flowers in her beard and looking all the world like someone had told her not long ago that all the sweets in the world were gone.

He really shouldn’t have been drinking when he thought of it. The ale burned his nose from the laughter, and he allowed Dwalin to swat his back, even though it hindered more than helped.

“We will visit.” She said once he stopped coughing. “And push comes to shove, we will move here permanently if we find that the Shire is no place for us.”

Thorin looked at his friend, seeing her practically glow in the dim light. All his life, he was there for her. Watching out for her just as she did the same for him. There for each other through all the highs and lows. Even agreeing to wed each other, even after the main cause of such a contract was cruelly killed by the now-dead pale orc. For they knew that, out of anyone else, they would be best suited for each other if no one else would have them. If no one that they wanted would actually want them back.

It was a strange, for he never dared to imagine that his life would pan out this way. He honestly thought he would be dead by now. But Mahal, it seemed, had other plans for him. Had decided that they could have the happiness they had only hoped for, even though it came in the most peculiar packaging. 

Now, it seemed, that Dwalin would be truly moving on. He was happy for her, sure. Elated, even. But it was hard to imagine an Erebor without Dwalin in it. Still, if it would make her happy…

“So long as you are here when I wed Bofur, then I will be happy for you.”

She laughed, looking rather relieved. “Seeing you and Bofur in frills, velvet, and pompous royal frock?” She quipped. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Thorin laughed himself, gesturing towards her with his ale. “You realize that you’ll also be in ‘pompous, royal frock’ as well?” He brought up, seeing her freeze in trying to take a drink. 

“… _Damn_.”

“Just because you got away with not wearing it for your wedding, doesn’t mean that you will for mine.” He told her, only grinning as she glared at him. “Now, drink and be merry! Perhaps you can finally have a proper first dance with you delightful husband, so long as you can pry him away from my nephews long enough.”

“I hate you.”

“You certainly do not. You _adore_ me.”

“Only some of the time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!... Technically. Epilogue's coming up!


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin braces himself and tries to get answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I should raise the rating for this...? There's talk of sexy times, so maybe...?

Thorin gazed out the window, looking out to the lands that surrounded the mountain. It was a bright, sunny day. Sweltering hot. A perfect day to stay inside the cool mountain (in Thorin’s opinion) or to run about outside like chickens who had lost their heads (in his nephews’ opinions). 

It had been two years since Dwalin left Erebor with Bilbo to go live in the Shire. Some months since Balin’s small exhibition returned with bright smiles and news that she had given birth. That the new family was happy, healthy, and everyone had kept their mouths shut as to what the actual sex of the child was. 

It was frustrating, especially when Thorin tried to pry such information from his intended. Not even sex could draw out answers (a method that always worked in the past). 

He missed his friends, and he had wanted to be there for them when such an event occurred. But they were far off into the west, and he had to stay behind to watch over his budding kingdom. Now, it was almost a week until they were scheduled to arrive, and two more until the reason why they would be arriving: The marriage of the King to his Consort. 

There were plenty of mixed emotions that went through him, even well after it their marriage was announced. He was just thankful that most seemed to feel the same way he did. That there was nothing wrong with two dwarrows of the same gender being together. There were some issues with class differences, but it didn’t take long for them to be reminded that the man the King had chosen was one of those brave enough to reclaim their beloved mountain from the dragon. That, it seemed, had trumped the issue rather quickly.

Unfortunately, there were still troubles on the horizon. Yes, Bilbo and Dwalin were due to arrive soon, but so were the descendants of his grandfather’s old court. Those who would want to take up the old seats. Those who did nothing but live in comfort while others suffered through exile. And those who would most likely hold to the beliefs of old. 

He would need his friends, his family, his love, and the support they could offer. Lest he go on a killing spree to be rid of the possible stupidity. There were only so many places one could hide bodies in a mountain, after all.

The door to his quarters opened, and he smiled as he saw who ventured in, even though they looked rather disgruntled. 

“Do you know what I hate about all this nonsense?” Bofur groused as he approached Thorin. “All the bloody ‘lessons’ on ‘how to be a proper consort’! Balin’s a good man and all, but if I had to sit and listen to him any longer…!”

“If it helps, I had to sit through similar lectures myself when I was younger.” Thorin consoled Bofur wrapped his arms around him. “They are merely guidelines, besides. And you will do just fine. I have complete faith in you.”

“In a mere miner?”

“I already trust you with my heart.”

Bofur huffed, and Thorin pulled him close and feeling his arms tighten. “Just makes me feel like a child again! I don’t even know if they’ll like me. Pushing me off to the sidelines instead of having to listen to me yammer on about what _I_ think is right.”

“They will have no choice.” He told him. “You are my Consort. Second to me in power. They will have to listen to you.”

“I just wish we could just get married without all the political crap.” Bofur said, but his eyes were warm. “The things I do for you, pebble.”

Thorin scoffed at the endearment. “I am no mere pebble.”

“You’re certainly no lustrous gem, if that’s what you’re pushing for.”

He laughed, full and loud, even as Bofur grinned at him and pulled him even closer. “I just hope things can remain this easy.”

“They never do.” Bofur chided. “They’ll most likely waver, like a mining cart on a wobbly track.”

Thorin hummed as Bofur lifted a hand to card fingers through his hair. “We will have each other, though.” Bofur continued. “And our families, if things really go to pot.”

“Let us hope they never do.” Thorin replied. “But be comforted in that fact.”

Bofur huffed. “Can’t believe we’re going to get married in less than a month.” He muttered. “Never thought it would happen so soon.”

Thorin had actually thought it would never happen period, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Bilbo and Dwalin are to arrive soon, as well.” He said. “I will finally know whether they had a daughter or a son.”

Bofur laughed. “If it helps,” He filled in. “Dwalin was the only who asked us to keep it secret. She wanted to see your face when she’d tell you. Or rather, show you.”

“Of course she would.” Thorin growled. “You do realize you still could’ve told me? I’m very good at pretending to act surprised.”

“Not with Dwalin, you aren’t.” Bofur chided. “Besides, you’ll be finding out soon enough. You can wait with baited breath for a little longer. Until then…”

Thorin blinked, feeling Bofur tug off his outer clothes, clearly having undid the braces whilst he was distracted with conversation. The mixture of cold on his back and the warmth on his front sent him shivering.

“Our separation begins tomorrow.” Bofur purred, and Thorin no longer felt any sort of chill. “I would like to throw your legs over my shoulders one last time before then.”

He shuddered, unable to fight his own grin, despite his arousal, as Bofur continued to tug at his clothes. It really was a tempting offer, but he needed something extra to help.

“Only if you finally tell me if Dwalin had a little girl or boy.”

Bofur huffed, taken aback by the question, even as Thorin started tugging off his clothes as well. “Really? You’re asking me this again? Now?”

“I could’ve asked later on, but even I would feel uncomfortable.”

This time, it was Bofur who laughed, even as he clutched at Thorin’s head as it moved to nuzzle his neck and shoulder. “Well, sorry love. I made a promise.” He chided. “Besides, they’ll be here soon enough. You’ll find out on your own.”

“Very well, then.” Thorin replied, easily pushing himself away maneuvering around his rather shocked and distressed betrothed. “It seems you will not have my legs on your shoulders, after all.”

“Wha-? Thorin!” Bofur cried. “Be reasonable, here! I-!”

“ _Instead_ …” He cut in, tossing the rest of his clothes off in quick movements that left him bare. “You shall be draped over my back.”

Bofur’s shocked expression went positively feral as he too stripped bare. “I’m at your beckoned call, Your Majesty.”

“As you should be.” Thorin quipped, grinning when he got the reaction he’d hoped for: A dark-eyed Consort-to-be bracing himself to run. And run they did, straight to the bedroom, where Bofur promptly tacked him to the bed, where they laughed like teens until they could regain themselves to kiss and let things grow heated once again.

He would enjoy moments like these as much as he could. Cling to them as he would face the troubles and headaches caused by the day. 

And with possible trouble lurking over the horizon, he would need as many moments as he could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S IT
> 
> ALL DONE
> 
> THE NEXT PART WILL COME EVENTUALLY THAT'S ALL I'LL SAY
> 
> ... I miiight also include that extra bit later. Maybe. Who knows.

**Author's Note:**

> TUMBLR: http://omgaidawtf.tumblr.com


End file.
